Breaking Point
by Roving Otter
Summary: The Kishin has been defeated, but for Chrona, the real battle has just begun...and it's inside his head.  Old memories and new, confusing feelings conspire to shake the foundation of his fragile sanity.  Takes place after the anime.  Maka/Chrona.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Chrona…" Ragnarok rested his tiny, round hands atop Chrona's head and peered down at the cutting board, where Chrona was dicing cabbage. "What's all this?"

"We're making pork dumplings," Chrona replied.

"Why?"

"I want to do something nice for everyone. Tomorrow we're having resonance training in the park with Maka, Soul, Tsubaki and Black Star. So I'm going to bring them lunch."

"I like it better when people bring food for us," Ragnarok said. "Besides, you nearly burned down the kitchen last time you tried to make something."

Chrona hunched his shoulders, a blush creeping into his cheeks at the memory. He'd managed to extinguish the cutlets, but he'd singed the cuffs of his robe, and the apartment had smelled like smoke for days. "I'm still learning," he said. "But this is an easy recipe. If I follow it exactly, I should be okay. Besides…" His gaze strayed to the framed photo on the counter, of himself and Maka standing side by side at the first party they'd gone to together. "Everyone here has been so kind to us. I just…want to do something." And it would be nice to have a skill. Something aside from killing.

"Suit yourself." Ragnarok recoiled back into his body.

Chrona started mincing the pork.

He had moved out of Shibusen's dungeons and into his own apartment about a week ago. He would have been content staying in his cell. Small, confined spaces suited him. But Maka had seemed troubled by the idea. _It doesn't bother you? _she'd asked. _Living in the same room where you were a prisoner?_

It hadn't occurred to him that he should be bothered by that, or by the bare stone walls and floor. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he'd have to move out at some point. He was no longer a trial student, after all, but a full-fledged member of Shibusen, and all the other students either lived in the dorms or had places of their own.

The apartment had daisy yellow walls and sky blue curtains. With his mostly black wardrobe, he felt out of place—like a stick of charcoal someone had accidentally left in a box of pastel crayons.

He surveyed the ingredients. Cabbage, blanched and minced. Ground pork. Ginger. Wrappers made from a paste of flour, water and salt. Was he forgetting anything?

Scallions, thought. The recipe called for scallions. But Tsubaki didn't like onions—

The knife slipped, and Chrona's breath hissed softly between his teeth as the blade slid across his fingertip. He raised one hand and stared at the line of black blood welling up. Ragnarok always hardened the blood from his battle wounds right away, but when it came to little cuts and scrapes, he usually didn't bother. Chrona held his hand over the sink and watched the drops of jet black blood well up and drip, drip, drip to the chrome. The sharp sting had mellowed into something softer, almost pleasant, and his gaze lost focus as he watched his blood sliding slowly toward the drain…

…and then _he _was sliding, back and back.

* * *

><p><em>There is a little girl bound and gagged in the corner of the room. She is bruised and dirty, staring up at Chrona with wide, terrified eyes. He stares back, and his chest tightens. The girl is five or six, no older than he is.<em>

_Medusa stands behind him, arms crossed over her chest. "Kill her," she says flatly._

_Chrona turns to his mother. "But…" He looks over his shoulder at the girl. She has blonde hair, and her pretty brown eyes are wet with tears. He looks down, twisting his little black dress in his hands. "I…I don't…"_

_Medusa sighs. "Regardless of what you do, she will never leave this place alive. She's seen far too much. If you refuse to kill her, I will use her for my experiments, and I can assure you she'll find that much more unpleasant than death. Look at it as sparing her the additional pain, if you will."_

_Chrona's breath comes in little hitching gulps. "I can't," he says in a small voice. "I can't kill a person."_

"_You've killed animals. This isn't much different." Her tone is calm, coaxing. Reasonable. "You have to get used to killing people, Chrona."_

_Tears spill down his cheeks. "Please," he whispers. "Please don't make me. Can't you just let her go?"_

_Medusa's eyes narrow. "If you refuse, you will spend the day locked in your room without food or water, and then I'll bring you back here and ask you to kill her again. If you still refuse, I'll think up some more inventive punishment for you."_

"_I can't—I _can't_—" He walks up to Medusa and hugs her leg, still pleading through his tears, but she pushes him away._

_"You worthless little coward," she says. "Is there _nothing _you can do? Can you not kill a single helpless little girl? I can scarcely believe you came out of my body. Perhaps my real child sneaked away and is hiding somewhere. Perhaps you're just the afterbirth. I should have thrown you away with the rest of the blood and filth."_

"_M-Mother…"_

_Her voice turns icy. "I've told you, never call me that."_

"_Medusa-sama…I don't understand." He looks at the little girl, who has gone silent and glazed-eyed, trembling like a fawn before the hunter's gun. "Why do I have to kill people?"_

"_Because that is why you exist. That's the only reason." Her voice turns smooth and gentle again. "Why make this more difficult than it needs to be? Why drag out her suffering, or your own?"_

_Ragnarok flows out of his back, plants his hands on Chrona's head and shakes it. "Just do it, already! You heard her. The kid's gonna die no matter what, so you might as well get it over with."_

"_But—but I don't want—"_

"_If you get us locked up again you can bet I'll punch you the whole time!"_

_Chrona doesn't care. By now, he's used to Ragnarok's punches and insults. But he's afraid of Medusa. Afraid of her cold eyes, afraid of her disappointment, her rejection._

_Medusa reaches down to squeeze his shoulder. Her fingers bite into him like claws, and pain shoots through his body. He gasps. The fingers dig in deeper, until the very tips of her nails puncture his skin. When she wrenches them out, her fingertips are wet with his blood. He watches it drip, black and shiny, to the floor. _"_Do it," she says._

_In the end, he cannot disobey her. She is his mother, his creator, his owner, his universe. Her contempt has the power to erase him, to make him less than nothing, to cast him into a cold, dark, empty hell from which he can never return._

_And it is that—even more than the pain—which pushes him over the edge._

"_Ragnarok," he murmurs._

"_Finally!" Ragnarok flows into his hand as a sword._

_Chrona approaches the girl in small, shuffling steps. He can't meet her gaze._

_The first cut is too shallow. Blood spurts from her throat, and she makes strangled choking sounds. Her eyes bulge. The second cut silences her. She convulses, then lies limp and still on the floor, blood pooling beneath her throat._

_That night, when Chrona is curled under the covers, Medusa enters the room. She walks quietly to the side of the bed, sits, and gathers him into her arms. "You did well today, Chrona," she whispers into his ear. "I'm proud of you."_

_Even at age six, he knows this is a lie. He is a tool to her, nothing more. But he clings to the lie—to her—because it is all he has. Because he is starved for this. This touch, this warmth._

_She strokes Chrona's hair. "My child," she whispers._

* * *

><p>When Chrona came back to himself, he was sitting on the kitchen floor, huddled in a ball, head tipped back and resting against the side of the counter, the knife cradled against his chest. His bleeding finger was in his mouth, the taste of his own blood on his tongue, and there were tears on his cheeks.<p>

Ragnarok poked his face. "Hey, Chrona. You there?"

He blinked. "Ragnarok? H-how long was I…"

"Just a few minutes this time."

Chrona hunched his shoulders and bowed his head.

Ragnarok leaned down to peer into his face, tilting his head. He licked the tears from Chrona's cheeks, like a puppy, and Chrona squirmed. "That tickles," he murmured, his gaze shifting away. He wanted to think that Ragnarok was trying to comfort him, but he probably just liked the taste of salt. Ragnarok didn't understand human emotions; not really. Maybe that was for the best.

He closed his eyes.

"The water in that pot's about to boil over," Ragnarok said.

Chrona gasped and scrambled to his feet.

* * *

><p>Maka looked around the grassy, forested area where she, Soul, Black Star and Tsubaki had gathered to train. Black Star was busy doing pull-ups from a tree bough, sweat rolling down his face as he counted to himself. Tsubaki was sitting under the tree reading.<p>

"Where's Chrona?" Maka asked, turning to Soul. "He was supposed to train with us today, right?"

"Maybe he got caught up in something." Soul interlaced his fingers behind his head. "Let's give him five more minutes, and if he's not here, we'll get started."

She bit her lower lip, staring in the direction of Shibusen. Chrona's apartment was close to the school; it wasn't a long walk. "He's never been late before. What if something happened?"

Soul smiled. "Give him a little credit. He kicked our asses the first time we met him, remember? I've still got the scar where he sliced me open, right here." Soul pounded a fist against his chest. "He can handle himself."

"I know. But…" She trailed off.

Chrona could protect himself against physical dangers. She knew that. But that wasn't what she was worried about. For the past hour or so, she'd been plagued by the vague feeling that something was wrong, that Chrona needed her. It wasn't a sense of danger, exactly. Just…something empty and quiet and sad.

She hadn't told Soul, because it would sound ridiculous, and it was probably her imagination anyway. But a shadow of worry hung over her heart.

She heard soft footsteps and turned.

A familiar, thin figure stood before her, clad in his usual white-collared black robe and holding a covered picnic basket in both hands. The tension eased out of Maka's shoulders, and she smiled. Maybe it _had_ been her imagination. "Good morning, Chrona."

"Good morning," Chrona murmured. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, head tipped forward so his pink hair hung in his eyes.

"What's in there?"

"Um…" His gaze shifted away, and a flush rose into his pale cheeks. "Pork dumplings. And rice balls." He knelt on the ground, removed the checkered cover from the basket, and unfolded it into a picnic blanket, which he spread across the grass.

Black Star approached, eyes brightening. "You brought lunch?"

"I made it," Chrona replied.

"All this?" Maka asked, surprised.

He nodded. "I'm still learning, so…it's probably not very good. B-but if anyone wants some…"

"Thanks!" Black Star sat on the blanket, grabbed a dumpling from the basket, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Tsubaki winced. "Black Star…"

"Whuh?" Black Star said around a mouthful of dumpling, spraying crumbs. "'E seh we coul' hab some."

Maka smiled at Chrona, who was still blushing and fidgeting, staring down at his hands. "Thank you, Chrona. They smell delicious."

Chrona ducked his head and mumbled something inaudible. His face had turned a bright red. This close, it was easy to sense his soul wavelength, and Maka could feel the vibrations of shy pleasure and self-consciousness coursing through him.

He was so different now. She remembered the first time she'd seen him—his bleak, half-crazed eyes, haunting and haunted. The way he'd seemed to look at her without really seeing her, as if she and everyone else in the world were just a shifting mass of shadows and bad dreams. The way he'd cut down Soul, slashed through him without even flinching, without ever losing that glazed, detached look. He'd been a killer, consumed with darkness.

But this gentleness had been there all along, under the surface. Maybe he'd just been waiting for someone to touch him, to penetrate his darkness.

Ragnarok burst out of Chrona's back and planted his tiny fists on Chrona's head. "Let's just eat already!"

Maka, Tsubaki and Soul all reached into the basket and pulled out more dumplings and rice balls. They all murmured approval as they ate, and a tiny smile formed on Chrona's face.

Black Star was already on his third helping. He licked sauce from his lips and grinned. "You can really cook! You'll be a great wife for someone, Chrona."

Everyone fell silent. Maka, Soul, and Tsubaki all turned their heads toward Black Star.

He started to fish a rice ball out of the basket, then paused, looking around. "Eh? Why is everyone staring at me? Did I say something weird?"

Tsubaki leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear.

Black Star blinked a few times. Then his jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" She nodded. He stood, staring at Chrona as if he'd just grown a second head. "You're a _guy?_"

Chrona hugged his knees to his chest. His gaze shifted uncomfortably away.

Ragnarok snickered. "Well, he's not a girl. Not last time I checked, anyway."

Chrona let out a small, dismayed squeak. "Ragnarok…"

"Sit down, Black Star," Maka said, "you're embarrassing him."

"But—but—" The corner of Black Star's eye twitched. "She's wearing a dress, and…"

"It's a robe," Maka said, irritation creeping into her voice. "What's the big deal, anyway? Chrona can wear whatever he wants."

Black Star stood there for a moment longer, looking as if he'd been smacked on the head with a cudgel. Then he thrust a dramatic arm out, pointing at Chrona, the tip of his finger nearly touching Chrona's nose.

Chrona's eyes crossed, as if trying to keep it in focus. "Uh…?"

Black Star grinned. All traces of confusion and shock had been wiped neatly from his features. "I challenge you!"

Chrona blinked. "What?"

Black Star planted his hands on his hips. "Well, a big guy like me can't go around challenging girls. But I've fought just about every other boy I know. Kid, Soul, Oxford…"

Chrona looked mystified. "But they're your friends. Why would you fight them?"

"To measure my strength, of course!"

"Ha!" Ragnarok said. "You want to fight Chrona? That's funny."

Black Star frowned. He tilted his head and stared, brows scrunched up, as if Ragnarok were a strange bug he'd found floating in his juice. "Huh?"

"Chrona would pound you into the ground like a tent peg," Ragnarok said. "He may act like a pussy, but once he gets revved up he's a total psycho. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Black Star's frown deepened. "No one asked you, weirdo."

Ragnarok shook a fist at him. "You're the weirdo, dickcheese!"

A vein popped out in Black Star's temple. "Watch your mouth or I'll bust it for you."

"If you try, I'll bite your hand."

"Now, now," Tsubaki said, her polite smile never wavering. "We're all friends here. Let's not get carried away."

Black Star huffed. His gaze met Chrona's, and he smiled again. But this time, the expression was harder, fiercer. "So, you wanna?"

Chrona hugged his knees tighter against his chest and lowered his gaze. "I…I don't think it would be a good idea," he murmured.

"Scared?" Black Star crossed his arms over his chest. His expression relaxed, the hard edge of his smile softening. "I guess I can't blame you. Sometimes I even scare myself! Well, if you want to back down, I won't hold it against you. But that means I win by default."

Maka shot a glare at him, which he ignored. She still didn't understand how Tsubaki could put up with Black Star constantly strutting around and shooting his mouth off. "Just sit down and eat, already," she said.

"It's just…" Chrona's gaze darted nervously back and forth. "Y-you're my friend, Black Star. I don't want to hurt you."

Something dangerous flickered in Black Star's eyes. "You're that confident you can beat me, huh?" He smirked darkly. "Maybe you've got more balls than I thought."

Maka stood up. "This is ridiculous," she said. "Chrona didn't mean it like that, and you know it. No one is going to fight anyone, so no one 'wins,' okay?"

Soul took another bite of his rice ball. "Let Chrona decide," he said.

She spun to face him, surprised. "Soul…"

Soul shrugged. "He can say no if he wants to."

"But…" She turned back to Chrona and Black Star. Chrona was sweating, his gaze skittering around wildly, as if looking for a place to hide.

Something had shifted in Black Star's demeanor. The playfulness was gone; the demon stared out through his eyes, its bloodlust awakened.

Tsubaki seemed to notice it too. Uncertainty showed in her expression as she rose to her feet. "Black Star…"

Black Star's smile widened, but it looked more like a snarl. "Fight me," he said. "And if you hold back, I won't forgive you. I want everything you've got."

Chrona twitched, his breath catching. For a moment he huddled on the ground, shaking, hair hanging in his eyes. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, arms hanging limp, head bowed—a puppet pulled by unseen strings.

"Now you've done it," Ragnarok said gleefully. "You flipped his crazy switch."

"Shut up," Black Star said.

"Fine." Ragnarok chuckled. "But don't blame me for what happens next."

Black Star licked his lips and held a hand out. "Tsubaki. Katana form."

She hesitated, glancing at Chrona, then back at her partner. "I don't think this is a good idea," she said quietly.

"Tsubaki…" His teeth scraped together. His breathing had grown heavier.

"No, Black Star." Her voice was soft but firm. "Not this time."

Thank God, thought Maka. The tension eased out of her shoulders.

"Fine!" Black Star snapped. "I'll fight Weaponless. I don't even need you to beat him!"

Tsubaki's eyes widened. "Black Star…"

Black Star extended a hand and beckoned to Chrona, then settled into fighting stance, legs apart, one hand raised. "Come at me," he said. "Let's see how strong you really are."

Chrona clutched at one arm, fingers digging in until the knuckles whitened. His head remained bowed, hair hanging in his eyes, and tremors shook his thin shoulders.

"What's wrong? Chickening out, after all? I'm disappointed."

Chrona's head lifted slowly, and his lips stretched open in a strange, cold smile. A chill rippled down Maka's spine.

Chrona's eyes had gone wide and glazed. Maka recognized the look.

Madness.

"That's more like it," Black Star said.

Chrona extended one hand. "Ragnarok," he said quietly.

"Been awhile since we cut someone up," Ragnarok said. "This oughtta be fun." He flowed back into Chrona's body, then reemerged in his hand as a sword.

Chrona giggled, a high-pitched, unnatural sound.

-To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"Stop this!" Maka said, fear edging into her voice.

Black Star ignored her. He roared and charged at Chrona, one hand upraised. A ball of crackling light grew in his palm, and Maka's heart lurched. Did he plan to hit Chrona directly with his soul wavelength?

Chrona's mouth opened, and a piercing, inhuman scream erupted from his throat. Ragnarok screamed as well, his voice resonating with Chrona's. Black Star fell back, and Maka cried out, clamping her hands to her ears.

She'd forgotten what it was like, that sound—the way it wormed through her skull and into her thoughts, shaking them apart. Her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees, eyes shut tight as the scream echoed around and around in her head. When it finally died down, she looked up and saw Chrona and Black Star circling each other.

Chrona was still giggling, a jittery, wild sound.

"What's so funny, huh?" Black Star demanded.

Another giggle burst from Chrona's throat. His eyes rolled up and down, side to side. "We were having a picnic," he said breathlessly. "And then—and then—"

Black Star's eyes narrowed. "Take this seriously."

More giggles.

"Stop laughing, damn it!"

"I can't." Spasms of laughter wracked Chrona. His shoulders shook so hard, it looked like he was sobbing. "I can't, I can't."

Black Star gritted his teeth, roared and launched himself at Chrona, who swung Ragnarok with a shriek. Black Star leaped back, landed in a crouch and slowly straightened, panting. There was a cut on his cheek where the sword had grazed him. He smirked and wiped the blood away with his thumb. "You're pretty fast," he said.

Chrona didn't reply; just stared with empty eyes, still smiling that frozen, crazed smile.

Cold fear trickled into Maka's veins. She started to take a step forward, but Soul placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him in desperation. "We have to stop this."

Soul didn't look at her. He was staring at Chrona and Black Star, his expression unreadable.

"Soul, what's wrong? Don't you see—"

"You can't always protect him, you know," Soul said quietly.

She shoved his hand off her shoulder, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Had _everyone _gone crazy today? "He's my friend! I'm not going to let him suffer right in front of me!"

"Chrona can end it at any time. All he has to do is say the word. Black Star might be a little unhinged when he fights, but he's not so far gone that he'll pummel someone who's begging him to stop."

"But..."

"At some point Chrona has to learn how to deal with people, with or without you there."

"Not like this." She stared at Chrona's face. She could feel the madness seething in his soul, ready to burst out. "_Look_ at him." She grabbed Soul's arm. "His mind has already shut down. He's going to keep going until he kills Black Star."

Soul's eyes widened. "Chrona wouldn't." His voice sounded a little unsteady. "He's not like that, not anymore…is he?"

"You don't understand," Maka whispered. She watched as Black Star circled Chrona, looking for an opening. "You didn't see what she did to him."

"What are you talking about?"

Dimly, at the edge of her awareness, she could hear Tsubaki calling out to Black Star. But Maka's attention was focused on Chrona.

"When I touched his soul, that first time…I saw some of his memories." Maka's voice shook. Black Star was still circling Chrona, who was panting raggedly, sword pointed at him. "Medusa started training him to kill when he was five years old. He didn't want to, but she tortured him when he refused. Over and over, until he couldn't even think about disobeying, until the only way he could survive was by breaking."

"But Medusa's dead," Soul said. He looked mystified. "She's not giving him orders anymore."

"Yes, she is. In his head."

Black Star roared and rushed at Chrona again, and his hand slammed into Chrona's stomach. Chrona flew backward with a cry. His back struck a tree, and he slid down. Black Star stood panting. His hand still glowed and crackled with light. "Give up, already," he said, a grin framing his bared teeth. The demon burned in his eyes, hot and fierce. "We both know who's the bigger man here."

Chrona slowly rose to his feet, head hanging, arms limp at his sides. His fingers tightened on Ragnarok, and he raised the sword slowly. The corners of his mouth pulled upward into a manic smile, and he began to giggle again.

Black Star's grin twisted into a snarl.

Maka's stomach clenched. Black Star and Chrona weren't here anymore. What stood before them were two forces of blind destruction; two automatons driven by fear and aggression, by primal emotions which battered down the walls of reason and friendship and normality.

A bead of sweat trickled down Soul's temple. "You're saying Chrona can't stop."

"To him, fighting isn't about winning or losing," Maka said. "It's about killing. He doesn't want to do this. But in his mind, he has no choice. Because she's always, always there."

Soul watched them. Realization dawned on his face, slowly followed by horror. "Shit."

A pair of black wings sprouted from Chrona's shoulders. At the sight, Maka went cold inside. He normally couldn't use those wings; not anymore. Not unless he let the black blood's madness consume him.

He rose into the air and hung there, swaying lightly back and forth. When Maka unfocused her gaze, she could see Ragnarok's soul expanding, glowing around him, a huge, churning red sphere.

"Ha!" Black Star howled. "You think if you fly around like a little bird I can't reach you?" He leaped into the air.

Chrona's sword knocked him back down. The force of the blow flung Black Star against a tree, and his head cracked against the trunk. "Damn it!" Black Star staggered in dizzy circles, swinging his fists wildly. Maka glimpsed the blood soaking through his hair. "Come down here!"

Chrona tipped his head back, slender arms held high over his head, Ragnarok upraised. His body continued to sway. His eyes rolled in the sockets, unseeing. "Screech Alpha," he said, his voice thin and breathless. His mouth fell open, and his voice rose in another scream. Ragnarok screamed in tandem, and razors raked down Maka's spine, over nerves and muscles. She gasped, clamping her hands over her ears.

A huge black and purple cloud burst forth from the sword, ripping a path through the ground. A tree split in half with a deafening chorus of cracks.

Black Star jumped to one side, narrowly avoiding the cloud. As it roared past, it sliced a shallow cut into his arm, and blood flew through the air. He hit the ground and rolled. A second later, he sprung back up. "Is that all you got?" he roared.

"We have to stop this," Maka said.

"If we get into the middle of that, we're going to die," Soul said.

Maka's jaw tightened, and frustration burned in her chest. But she knew he was right. "Run back to Shibusen and get Dr. Stein," she said, "or whoever you can find. I'll stay and see if I can tap into Chrona's wavelength. I might be able to calm him."

Soul's eyes widened. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You just said-"

"Go!" she snapped.

He hesitated, then nodded grimly, turned, and ran in the direction of Shibusen.

"Black Star!" Tsubaki shouted. She sounded close to panic. "Stop this! He'll kill you!"

"Ha! Are you kidding? We're having a blast!"

Chrona was still grinning. But his eyes were glazed with panic, his teeth rattling together as he trembled.

Why didn't Black Star _see?_

But of course, thought Maka, he couldn't. When Black Star fought, he was blind to everything but winning. It was his strength—and it was also what made him dangerous and unstable. He couldn't win this fight. Not without a Weapon. But he would keep fighting until he was unconscious or dead. And with Chrona's mind coming apart at the seams...

"Chrona!" Maka shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. "You don't have to keep fighting. Tell him you give up!"

Chrona didn't seem to hear her. He panted, chest heaving, as he pulled back one sleeve and drew Ragnarok's blade across his own arm. Black blood dripped from the wound.

Black Star bent his knees and launched himself into the air again, one hand filled with the blazing energy of his soul.

"Bloody Needle," Chrona said, his voice strangely calm.

Black spikes shot out from the cut, toward Black Star. The spikes impaled his shoulders, his chest, his arms and legs. He cried out, his voice choked with pain, and blood burst from his mouth.

Tsubaki ran toward him.

He fell to the ground, gasping, blood soaking his shirt. Then—astonishingly—he climbed to his feet. He laughed, even as he trembled and clutched his chest. Blood dripped between his fingers.

Chrona hovered, staring down at him blankly.

"You're tough," Black Star wheezed. "I'll give you that. But I've barely gotten started! Just wait—" He started to keel over.

Tsubaki caught him and curled an arm around his waist, supporting him. "Don't try to move," she said firmly.

"I'm fine," he growled. "It's just a flesh wound."

She shook her head. "We're going back to Shibusen. You need a doctor."

"Soul is getting Dr. Stein now," Maka said. "Just stay there."

Chrona still hung twenty feet above the ground, wings flapping. His head lolled, as if his neck were broken. He hummed to himself, a low, monotone hum. Slowly, he raised Ragnarok. The sword's mouth opened, and a piercing scream rent the air. The ground vibrated. Chrona's grip tightened on the sword's hilt, and his mouth opened as a scream burst forth from his throat, the two screams resonating and swelling in volume. _"Screech Alpha!"_

Tsubaki picked up Black Star and lunged out of the way as the black cloud burst forth again, ripping through the ground and plowing through another tree. It toppled with a cacophony of creaking and splintering wood. Maka looked up, eyes widening. It was falling straight toward her.

She saw Chrona's face turn. His eyes focused on her and widened. Instantaneously, the blank glaze of madness vanished, and recognition flooded his expression.

In a flash he was between her and the tree; it struck the shield of Ragnarok's soul. He pushed, and the tree toppled in the opposite directly, crashing harmlessly to the ground.

Chrona hovered for a moment longer, the soul-shield flickering around him. His sword liquefied into black blood and vanished into his body. He went limp, hanging there, suspended in midair…then he fell.

Maka rushed forward and caught him. The impact knocked her to the ground, nearly driving the breath from her lungs, but she hugged Chrona tightly. He was shaking. "It's all right," she whispered. "I have you."

"Maka…" His chest hitched. He hid his face against her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It is. I know it is." His voice was soft, but it shook with a feverish intensity. Harsh, ragged breathing echoed in her ear. "I should never have come here. I only hurt people and make bad things happen. It would have been better if I'd died back then."

"Please don't say that." She hugged him tighter. He felt so frail. Like he might break if she squeezed to hard. Even though she'd seen it with her own eyes, it was hard to believe he'd been responsible for the destruction all around her. "You're my friend," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'm sorry. I—I just—" He drew in a shaky breath. "My head…my head is…everything hurts…I can't…"

"Chrona, look at me." She held his face between her hands and looked into his wide eyes. "Focus your mind on me." She could feel his soul, jittery and vibrating and seething with darkness. She matched her own soul wavelength to it, resonated with him, flowed into him. It was natural and easy, like resonating with Soul.

He didn't relax so much as collapse. The tension drained out of him, and he hung from her arms, limp as a rag doll.

She heard footsteps and looked up to see Soul running toward her, followed closely by Stein, who was carrying a medical kit. He stopped and surveyed the damage—Black Star bleeding in Tsubaki's arms, Chrona half-conscious in Maka's—then sighed and twisted the screw in his head. "I'll ask what happened later. Is Chrona injured?"

"Physically, he's okay," Maka said. "Psychologically…"

"Not so much," Soul finished.

"Then you and Soul can take Chrona back to Shibusen. Marie's waiting there. Her wavelength should have a stabilizing effect on him." He approached Black Star, crouched beside him, and opened the medical kit. "I'm going to close the wounds."

Black Star was blinking, a dazed expression on his face. The manic fire had faded from his eyes. He looked around the half-demolished park, and his gaze settled on the picnic basket, which had been knocked over in the chaos. Pork dumplings and rice balls were scattered across the grass. "They're ruined," he murmured. His voice was very quiet, very un-Black Star like. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

"That's the least of our concerns," Tsubaki said. "You're bleeding everywhere."

"Is…is Chrona okay?"

"Don't try to talk," Stein said.

Soul sighed. He slung an arm around Chrona's right side, and Maka took his left. They made their way slowly back to Shibusen.

When they arrived in the infirmary wing, Marie was waiting for them. She led them to an empty room and helped Chrona into bed, where he lay, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Soul and Maka waited uncertainly near the doorway as Marie sat by the bedside and took Chrona's hand in hers. "How are you feeling, Chrona?" she asked gently.

"Marie-sensei…" His head turned slowly toward her. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

Tears formed in his eyes, which were wide and unfocused, as if he wasn't quite there. "The snake. Dr. Stein. It's my fault. I betrayed you."

Her brow furrowed. "That was a long time ago. I've forgiven you for that."

A tear slid down his cheek. "You were so nice to me, and I…I…"

"Shhh." She lay his hand at his side and pulled the sheets over him. "Just rest."

A shudder ran through him, and his eyes went glazed and empty again. Marie cast an uncertain glance in Maka and Soul's direction. "Did he hit his head?"

"No," Maka said.

"He seems disoriented. Chrona, can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?"

Silence.

Ragnarok popped out of Chrona's back, hooked one of his tiny paw-like hands into the corner of Chrona's mouth, and pulled, stretching his cheek out. Chrona didn't react. "He's switched off," Ragnarok said.

Maka frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This used to happen all the time back when we lived with Medusa," Ragnarok said. "Sometimes he just shuts down for awhile." He leaned over Chrona and opened his mouth, letting his long tongue loll out. Chrona continued to stare blankly, unresponsive, as Ragnarok drooled onto his face. "See? Chrona has left the building. He'll snap out of it sooner or later, though. He always does."

With a cloth, Marie gently wiped Chrona's face clean. "Catatonia?" she asked, glancing at Ragnarok.

"Whatever you call it." Ragnarok idly poked at Chrona's face, rolling his head back and forth, like a cat batting at a toy. After a minute or two, he seemed to grow bored of this and recoiled back into Chrona's body.

Marie turned to Maka and Soul. "How did this happen to him?"

Soul had been leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets, watching in silence. Now, he spoke. "Black Star challenged him to a duel. Things got nasty."

Maka clenched her fists. She could feel her nails biting into her palms, even through the gloves. "Black Star is a dick."

"He's not a bad person," Soul said quietly. "He gets carried away sometimes. But if he knew what Chrona had been through as a kid, he wouldn't have challenged him. I'm sure of that."

Marie sighed. "I suppose I should have a talk with them both, once things have settled down. Is Black Star all right?"

"He'll probably be okay once Stein stops the bleeding."

Her eyes widened. "Chrona injured him?"

"Turned him into shish-kebob," Soul said. Marie put a hand to her mouth in shock, and Soul added, "Black Star's survived worse. That guy's too tough to die over something like that."

Marie and Soul continued to talk, but their voices faded out of Maka's awareness. She pulled up a chair and gathered Chrona's hand in both her own. He stared through her.

She squeezed his hand. "Can you hear me, Chrona?"

No response.

-To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

After a few minutes, Soul and Marie left to check on Black Star, but Maka remained, sitting by Chrona's side and holding one of his motionless hands. The infirmary was quiet.

Chrona didn't acknowledge her presence. His eyes remained wide open but blank, the pupils constricted to tiny points. When she released his hand, his arm remained where it was, half-lifted and frozen at his side. It was as if he'd gone somewhere else, leaving his body behind. She wondered where—what he was enduring, if he was remembering or hurting, or if his mind slept in darkness.

This had happened to him before, Ragnarok had said. Many times. He would come out of it. She kept telling herself that, reassuring herself that this was temporary. After all the hell Chrona had been through, something like this wouldn't break him. But her chest was a tight knot of worry, and her throat felt like she'd been gargling with sand.

An hour crept by, then another.

"Chrona," she said for the twentieth time, "can you hear me?"

For a moment she thought she saw _something _shift in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure.

The door creaked open, and Maka tensed. She relaxed again as Dr. Stein entered the room. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at Chrona's motionless form. "Any changes in him?"

Maka shook her head. "How's Black Star?"

"Stabilized," he said. "He just needs to rest and replenish the blood he's lost. Though considering this is Black Star, I'll probably have to strap him to the bed, or he'll be trying to train again as soon as he's conscious." He leaned over Chrona, took a penlight out of his pocket and shone it into one eye, then the other. Chrona didn't blink. "Have you ever seen him like this before?"

"No."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin. "Ragnarok, may I speak to you?"

Ragnarok flowed out of Chrona's chest and peered up at Stein. "Yo," he said. It was somehow unsettling, seeing him rise up from the _front _of Chrona's body. Maka had gotten used to seeing him sprout from Chrona's back.

Stein adjusted his glasses. "How typical an occurrence is this, for him?"

"Do I get candy if I answer your questions?"

Stein pulled a cellophane bag of toffees from his pants pocket. Apparently, he'd come prepared. Stein unwrapped a toffee and tossed it to Ragnarok, who snapped it up, swallowed, and burped. "It used to happen a lot more, not so much since he came here, but even back then he usually he just blanked out for a few minutes. Been awhile since he's been out for this long."

Stein unwrapped another toffee, and Ragnarok snapped it up. "What's the longest he's ever stayed this way?"

Ragnarok tilted his head. "About two days. That was a long time ago, though. First time it ever happened."

Stein turned his head to Maka and stared. She got the message; he wanted her to leave him alone to ask his questions. She understood why—they were talking about private things, things that Chrona might or might not want anyone else hearing—but still, it bothered her, being left on the outside. Her hands tightened into fists on her skirt. Stein kept staring, waiting.

Maka stood, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind her. She left it open a crack, though, and stood with her back pressed against the wall just beside it.

Even if Stein's madness had been neutralized, she still didn't quite trust him alone with Chrona. He was too fond of dissecting things. Or maybe that was just an excuse. Maybe she just wanted to hear what was going on. Was it so wrong to be worried about a friend?

"What triggered it, the first time it happened?" Stein asked, his voice muffled by the wall. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah." Ragnarok's reply was oddly listless.

"Tell me everything you can. The more I know, the better I'll be able to treat him."

A long pause. "Medusa ordered him to kill a bunch of people." On the surface, Ragnarok's voice was as casual and fuck-it-all as usual, but beneath there was an undercurrent of…not sadness, but something in that general direction. "It wasn't the first time. He'd already killed lots of people, so I don't know what the big deal was. Maybe he finally realized that it wasn't going to stop. That this was pretty much his life. Anyway, he freaked out and slit his wrists."

Maka drew in her breath sharply.

"A suicide attempt?" Stein asked. She hated how cool and neutral his voice sounded, as if he were just checking a box from a list of symptoms.

"Yeah, well…he should have known it wouldn't work," Ragnarok said. "I just hardened the blood. He kept crying and telling me to let him die because otherwise he'd end up killing more and more people. Because he was too weak to resist her, he said. I told him to stop being a dummy. I mean, obviously I wasn't going to let him die. But he kept trying, making cuts, even though they weren't bleeding. Then after awhile he just switched off."

"How old was he, at the time?"

Another pause. "Nine."

Maka clutched at the twisting pain in her heart. She could feel herself shaking.

It shouldn't have surprised her. She knew what sort of hell Chrona had been through as a child. Still…

Tears swam into her eyes, and she slid down the wall until she was sitting, knees drawn up to her chest.

Dimly, she could still hear Stein talking to Ragnarok in the other room, but the words didn't filter through the haze around her mind. All she could see was Chrona as a terrified little boy, trying desperately to escape his fate, taking the only other path available to him. But he'd been denied even the release of death, forced to keep killing, to keep acting against his gentle nature. She wished she could go back in time, find that child, hold him and tell him that everything would be all right, that things would get better.

Medusa's face swam into her mind, cold-eyed and smirking. Rage bubbled up inside Maka, pulsing through her veins. She wanted to kill that bitch all over again, to rip open that lying throat and watch her soul dissolve into nothing. She hoped it had hurt, hoped that every atom of her being had ached as the Anti-Demon Wavelength incinerated her. She knew these were ugly thoughts to be having—that hatred was a short path to madness—but she didn't care. If there was a Hell, she hoped Medusa was rotting there.

The door creaked open. She gave a start and looked up to see Stein peering down at her. "You know," he said, "it's rude to listen in on other people's conversations."

A flush rose into her cheeks, and she hugged her knees to her chest. "Sorry," she muttered.

He shut the door behind him, cranked the screw in his head a few times, and sighed. "I need to go check on Black Star. Can you remain with Chrona until he's able to respond normally again? He shouldn't be alone in this condition."

Maka bit her lower lip. "Do you think he'll be all right?"

Stein looked over his shoulder at the motionless form in the room. "I'm sure his current condition isn't permanent, though how long it will last, I can't say. As for whether he'll be all right…well, that's a more complicated question." He met her gaze. "You know, perhaps better than anyone, how deep the scars run...what Medusa did to him. Wounds like that don't heal overnight."

Maka stared down at her feet. A lump filled her throat. "I wish I knew how to help him. Most of the time, I feel like there's nothing I can do." She looked up. "But he _is _getting better. I mean…he doesn't just hide in his room all the time anymore. And the other day, I heard him laugh. It was just a little laugh, but still—" She stopped. Stein was smiling. "What?"

"He's fortunate to have someone like you. Just keep being his friend. That's what will help him, more than anything."

"You think so?"

He nodded, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a drag. There were rules against smoking on school property, but Stein seemed to regard rules as something that had been invented for other people. "It will take time. But as you said, he's already making progress. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Stein turned.

"Dr. Stein?"

He stopped.

"Chrona isn't going to be in trouble for this, is he?"

A pause. "I'll see what Shinigami-sama has to say." He walked away.

Maka watched him go. She opened the door to Chrona's room and looked in. Ragnarok had withdrawn back into his body.

She pulled up a chair to the bedside and sat. "Hi, Chrona."

Silence.

She took his hand, curling her fingers around his. "I don't know if you can hear me now. But I'm here, and I'll be right here until you're back to normal." A lump rose into her throat. "I care about you so much. You know that, right?" Her fingers tightened on his. "I'm sorry I didn't stop this from happening. Soul says that I can't always protect you. But I want to. Maybe I'm just being selfish. But I…" An image flashed through her head; Chrona impaled on Medusa's arrow, the arrow that had been meant for Maka.

She would never forget the look on his face...his smile, so peaceful, as he lay bleeding in her arms afterward. _Don't cry, Maka. I'm happy. I could finally be helpful to you._

A tear dripped onto his cheek. "You protected me then," she whispered. "How can I do any less?"

Another tear fell onto his cheek and slid down to the sheets below. And still he didn't move, didn't react. Maka took a deep breath and wiped the back of one hand across her eyes. She needed to be strong. She wanted to show him a smile when he came back.

She kept talking to him, telling him what she'd done yesterday, what she was planning to do tomorrow—random nonsense, because talking seemed better than sitting in silence. The minute hand of the clock crawled around and around. Her stomach startled to growl, because it was dinnertime and she'd eaten hardly anything for lunch. And still, Chrona remained limp and motionless, a helpless doll.

Stein returned briefly to check on him again. Before he left, he told Maka, "I can ask Marie to take over for you, if you want to go home. There's no telling how long he'll be like this."

She shook her head. "I'll stay with him."

He hesitated, studying her, and for a moment she thought he was going to insist that she get some rest. Maka squared her shoulders, preparing to argue. But Stein simply nodded and walked out.

* * *

><p>It was getting late. Maka rubbed her eyes. Her lids felt like stone, and her shoulders drooped with fatigue. "Chrona?"<p>

Nothing.

Tears of frustration welled up, and her throat tightened. There had to be some way to wake him from this trance, this not-sleep, this state of nothing. For some reason, she found herself thinking about being four years old and sitting up in bed, listening raptly as Spirit read to her from a book of fairy tales.

_"...and the princess slept for many, many years, and no one could wake her, for it was an enchanted sleep, a spell cast on her by the evil witch. There's only one thing that can wake someone from a sleep like that."_

_"What's that, Papa?"  
><em>

She took a deep breath, started to lean down, and stopped.

Her face was just a few inches from Chrona's. She looked into his unseeing eyes—pale eyes a shade between blue and gray. This close, she could see the ripples of darker gray in his irises, little starburst patterns around the centers. His warm breath tickled her lips.

Silly, she thought. This wasn't a fairy tale. There was no way something like _that _would work.

Her pulse drummed in her throat.

Maka had never kissed a boy. Or anyone, for that matter. She'd never particularly wanted to. She'd never been the sort of girl to moon over movie stars or tape up posters of boy bands to her walls. Drippy love songs and people kissing in movies just made her feel itchy, as if she'd come into contact with something she was mildly allergic to. Given how disastrously things had turned out with her parents, she'd always considered her lack of interest in romance to be a blessing. Her friendship with Soul was close and comfortable _because _they'd never had those kind of feelings for each other, and that was how she preferred it.

So why had the thought of kissing Chrona even popped into her head? Was it just the childish notion that a kiss had magic power?

But if there was even the slightest _chance…_

The tip of her tongue crept out to moisten her lips as she leaned down a little further, until her lips almost brushed against his…

"Hey!" Chrona's body convulsed as Ragnarok burst from his chest.

Maka recoiled. "R-Ragnarok—"

Ragnarok glared up at Maka through his strange, round eyes. "What the hell!" he said, his shrill voice piercing the silence. "Does seeing him like this get you off or something?"

"No!" Her cheeks flushed hotly, and she squirmed in her chair, gaze darting back and forth. "I—I just—"

"Are you some kind of a perv?"

"I thought a kiss might wake him up," she blurted out.

"Are you kidding?" Ragnarok flailed his tiny arms. "That's the dumbest thing I ever heard! Like hell I'm letting you tongue him while he's unconscious!"

Her face flushed hotter. "I wasn't going to—it was just, I mean—"

"If anything, your bad breath will scare him into a full-blown coma!"

She lurched to her feet, fists clenched. "I don't have bad breath!"

"Yes you do. It smells like pork and fruity chapstick."

She drew in a shaky breath. Her face was so hot, the rush of blood to her head was starting to make her dizzy. "I won't try it again, okay? Just...don't tell anyone?"

"Fine, whatever."

"Maka?" Chrona's voice was soft and puzzled. He sat up slowly, blinking at her.

"Chrona…" She stood, shock-frozen, her mouth hanging open.

Then she flung her arms around him and hugged him tight. He squeaked in surprise. "M-Maka—"

She pressed her cheek against his, her eyes squeezed shut to hold back the tears of relief. "Welcome back," she whispered.

She felt his face growing warmer. After a moment, his arms slipped around her. Chrona still didn't quite know how to hug; his embraces were always stiff and awkward. But he was trying, and that was an improvement all by itself.

She squeezed him tighter, then pulled back to look into his dazed eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I-I think so. I don't remember how I got here. What—" His eyes grew wider. "Black Star. Is he all right?"

"Dr. Stein is looking after him. He'll be fine."

"What did I do to him?"

She hesitated. "You don't remember?"

"We carved him up like a turkey," Ragnarok said. "Demolished half the park too."

Dismay flooded Chrona's expression, and he began to tremble. "I hurt him?" His voice was soft with horror.

"A little," Maka said reluctantly.

"If you call twenty stab wounds 'a little.'" Ragnarok sounded way too cheerful.

Chrona moaned, his head sinking into his hands. "Again," he whispered. "Again, I…"

"Hey, Black Star challenged _you,_" Maka said firmly. "This isn't your fault." She pulled his hands away from his face and held them.

He looked down at their joined hands. "I don't want to hurt people anymore," he said. "But it keeps happening. I wanted…" The muscles of his throat convulsed as he swallowed. "I just wanted us all to have a nice lunch and train together. But somehow…"

Ragnarok rolled his eyes. "Wake me up when the angst is over."

Maka shot a glare at him. She would have given him a Maka Chop, if he weren't connected to Chrona. Really, the little loudmouth would have gotten dozens of Maka Chops by now if not for that fact. "Ragnarok, couldn't you be a little more sensitive? Or at least _try_ once in awhile?"

"I don't see what the big deal is. _Someone _needed to take that guy down a peg, if you ask me." He recoiled into Chrona's back.

Chrona took a deep breath and squared his narrow shoulders, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I want to see Black Star. To say I'm sorry."

"Chrona, you don't have to—"

"I want to. Please." His hands tightened on hers. "I know he'll probably hate me for this. But still...the least I can do is say I'm sorry."

She hesitated…then nodded. "Okay." She wasn't sure if Black Star was even conscious yet. But there was a note of urgency in Chrona's voice that she couldn't ignore. They could check, at least.

She stood and helped Chrona to his feet. He swayed, leaned briefly against her, and straightened. She was still holding his hand as they left the room. "I don't know which room he's in, so we'll just have to look around," she said.

Chrona nodded.

As they walked down the hall, Maka's earlier conversation with Stein echoed through her head. He'd said he would talk to Shinigami-sama about this. Her heartbeat quickened. Chrona had proven his loyalty to Shibusen, but he'd betrayed them once...and he was the child of a witch. For many Death City residents, that alone was reason enough to distrust him. Certain people didn't want him here. From time to time, Maka overheard murmurs of disapproval and suspicion, even outright hatred.

_"Is that the child who..."_

_"Yes, the witch's brat."_

_"Why is he allowed to remain here, after all the trouble he caused?"_

_"Should've been executed, if you ask me."  
><em>

Those people didn't care that Chrona had been coerced into his betrayal, that he'd endured years of abuse, neglect and torture, that he'd struggled with all his being to overcome his past and do the right thing. Once word got out that he'd injured Black Star...

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

"Maka, are you all right?"

"Fine," she murmured.

Shinigami-sama was wise, she reassured herself. He would understand that this wasn't Chrona's fault. He wouldn't expel Chrona over something like this.

Would he?

-To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

AN: This chapter is really long. I thought about splitting it in half, but decided to just post the whole thing. Also, I changed the rating to M, since there will be some mature themes. As always, reviews are appreciated. ^_^

* * *

><p>As Chrona and Maka were rounding a corner, they almost ran into Marie.<p>

"Chrona!" She beamed, eyes filled with relief, and hugged him tight.

Chrona made a tiny sound of surprise, cheeks turning bright pink. "M-Marie-sensei..."

"I'm so glad you're awake," Marie said, pulling back to look at him. "I was just coming to check on you. How are you feeling?"

He lowered his gaze shyly, fidgeting. "F-fine. Um…h-how is Black Star?"

Her expression turned serious. "He's out of danger, thankfully. The bleeding's stopped, and he's conscious, but still disoriented."

"M-may I see him? I won't stay long. I just want to apologize for hurting him."

Marie glanced at Maka, then back at Chrona, looking a little uncertain.

"Please," Chrona said, a note of urgency in his voice.

Then she nodded. "All right. Come with me."

She led them down the hall and opened a door to reveal Black Star in bed, swathed in so many bandages he looked like a mummy, with an IV trailing from one wrist and a heart monitor beeping next to him.

"Black Star?" Marie said. "How are you feeling?"

He raised one hand and gave them a shaky thumbs up.

"Chrona has something to say to you. Do you want us to come back a little later, or…"

"Chrona's there?" He raised his head, blinking dazed eyes, and smiled. "Hey. Didn't see you." His voice was slurred, as if he were drunk. Probably the painkillers. Or maybe a concussion. Most of his head was wrapped in bandages as well.

Chrona's fingers slipped from Maka's, and he approached in small, tentative steps, clutching one arm so hard that his fingertips whitened. "I j-just…" His breath hitched. When he spoke again, his voice was choked, as if he were fighting tears. "I'm sorry, Black Star. I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Y-you're my friend, and I—"

"Sorry? What are you talking about? These are just scratches." Black Star thumped a fist weakly against his bandaged chest and winced. "Little wounds like this will just make me stronger." His smile remained, but something changed in his eyes, like a cloud passing over the sun. "I hurt you a lot worse."

"But…" Chrona's voice was soft, mystified. "You didn't even touch me."

"I mean…" His gaze shifted away, and his smile faded. "Stein told me. I didn't know. About…all that."

Chrona was trembling. Maka stared at his back, then approached in small, tentative steps, wanting to see his expression. There were tears in his eyes. But more than anything, he looked relieved. "It's okay," Chrona said. "Thank you for not being mad at me. I was afraid. I th-thought you would hate me after this."

"Hate you? For beating me in a fight? That wouldn't be very big." Black Star looked up, his eyes still hazy and unfocused with drugs. "Aw, don't cry," he murmured. "I hate to see a girl cry."

Maka blinked. He still thought…had the concussion knocked their previous conversation out of his head? "Black Star, he's not—"

Chrona put a hand on Maka's arm, stopping her. She gave him a puzzled look, but said nothing.

"I'm glad you're okay," Chrona said quietly.

Black Star's eyelids had started to droop. "You're a nice kid," he murmured. "You know that?" His eyes sank shut, and his breathing slowed.

Marie placed a hand on Chrona's shoulder and another on Maka's. "We should let him rest," she said.

Chrona nodded, and they left the room.

Maka smiled at him as they walked. "See?" she whispered. "Everything's okay."

He smiled back and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Stein will probably want to check on you before you head home," Marie said, "just to make sure everything's normal. I'll let him know you're awake. In the meantime, just rest."

* * *

><p>Shortly after, Stein arrived. He checked Chrona's pulse and blood pressure, had him count backwards from ten, and shone a light into his eyes. Chrona blinked. "Well, everything seems normal. Still..." Stein cranked the screw in his head and glanced at Maka. His eyes told her to leave.<p>

She tensed. Again, she was being pushed away. In a flash of defiance, she stood her ground.

"It's okay," Chrona said, his voice uncharacteristically firm. "I want her here."

Stein raised his eyebrows, nodded, and turned back to Chrona. "They're usually triggered by stress? These episodes?"

A small nod.

"Been taking your medication?"

"Yes."

He made a thoughtful sound and gave his screw another twist. "I hesitate to add anything new to the mix while you're still getting used to your current dosages. For now, it might be best to just avoid your triggers. Relax, don't do anything too overwhelming. I can recommend that you be given a break from missions and training until your condition is more stable."

Chrona sat up straighter. "But I want to be useful."

"You'll be more useful, in the long run, if you take care of yourself. Right now, you need to focus on your mental health."

He lowered his gaze, his shoulders drooping. "If you think so."

"For tonight, just go home and get some rest." He rose. "Maka, will you see to it that he gets home safely?"

"Is he okay?" she asked.

Stein gave her a reassuring smile. "His vital signs are all normal. But it's best to be on the safe side. And Chrona?"

Chrona turned to him.

"I spoke to Shinigami-sama earlier. He wants to see you tomorrow morning to discuss this incident."

Chrona's eyes widened, and the color drained from his face. "Is it bad?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Stein said. "I asked him what he was planning to do about this, and he said he'd decide after he spoke to you."

Chrona stared at the floor, shaking.

Maka's insides went cold. "I want to go with him," she said firmly.

Stein raised his eyebrows. "Any reason?"

"I'm a witness. I saw everything that happened."

"This isn't a trial," Stein said. "Chrona has already proven his loyalty to Shibusen. This is simply a fight that got out of hand. Nevertheless, he damaged school property and seriously injured Black Star, and we can't ignore that." His expression was grim. "It's unfortunate. But rules are rules. If we start making exceptions..."

"This wasn't Chrona's fault," she said.

"No one has said it is," Stein said.

"But…"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions. Nothing has been decided yet. Just get some sleep. Worry about the rest tomorrow."

* * *

><p>It was dark out when they left the infirmary. Maka and Chrona walked side by side down the street, toward Chrona's apartment.<p>

Maka glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was paler than usual, his gaze downcast.

She knew she shouldn't ask. But after a few minutes of silence, she finally gave in. "You're taking medication?"

He gave a small nod. "Stein says the pills will help…th-that they'll help me not be scared and sad all the time. I didn't even know medicines like that existed." He hugged himself. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't want you to be worried."

"It's okay, Chrona. I don't expect you to tell me everything. You're entitled to privacy." She hesitated. "Do they help?"

"I think so. B-but it's hard to tell, sometimes. I still get scared." He stared off into space. "I'm afraid now," he whispered. "I'm afraid of what's going to happen tomorrow."

"Don't worry." She forced a smile. "They're not going to expel you over something like this." She wouldn't let them.

"I don't want to lose all this," he said.

"You won't. We'll explain everything to Shinigami-sama tomorrow."

"We?"

"I said I'd come with you, didn't I?"

"You really will?"

"Of course. I don't care what Stein said. There needs to be someone there who wasn't involved in the fight. An objective witness." Okay, maybe she wasn't _that _objective, but she knew Chrona; he wouldn't defend himself, he would say that everything was his fault. Someone needed to explain what had actually happened. "I'll make sure that you aren't blamed for this." She realized he'd stopped walking and turned to face him. "Chrona?"

He stood motionless, head hanging, arms still wrapped around himself. His fingers pressed into his arms. "You're always looking out for me," he said quietly.

Maka hesitated. Soul's words echoed in her head—_He needs to learn how to deal with people, with or without you there—_and she bit her lower lip, uncertainty stirring inside her. "Do you not want me there with you?"

His head jerked up, eyes wide. "No! I mean—I _do, _I want you there. I always want you with me. It's just…" The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed. "I'm always burdening you with my troubles. You do so much for me. You're kind to me, and you help me, and…I want to do things for you too, but instead I just weigh you down."

"Chrona…" Surprised, she reached out and took his trembling hand. "That isn't true. You saved my life. If not for you—"

"I'm glad I was able to protect you. B-but…I know that you weren't supposed to be there at all. That you came there to help me. You put yourself in danger for my sake."

"That's not—"

"You don't have to deny it," he said softly. "I know. And you were able to defeat Medusa—to do what I couldn't—so maybe it was all worthwhile, but still, I…" He looked down at their linked hands. "I couldn't stop her. In the end, I was helpless."

"You stood up to her. I know how much courage that took."

"I could only do it because of you," Chrona said. "Because of your belief in me. I thought that if you saw something in me worth saving, then maybe somewhere inside me there was another Chrona, a _better_ Chrona, and I could become that person if I tried hard enough…that I could become what you saw, what you liked. But…" He drew in a shaky breath. "I don't know if I can. What she did to me…it's too deep. It won't ever go away. Sometimes I don't even feel like a whole person. Just…pieces. L-like whatever I was or whatever I might have been is just broken and scattered and there's hardly anything left."

"You _are _a whole person," she said firmly. "And you'll heal. Give yourself time."

He looked at her. The moonlight reflected on his tears, stole the color of his eyes and turned them into dark pools. "What if I don't?" he whispered. "What if I'm always like this? What if years go by and I still tremble and crumble into pieces at every little thing?"

Her first instinct was to reassure him that he _would _get better, that the pain would ease over time. But that wasn't what he'd asked her. "I'll still be here," she said.

He stared at her, his eyes huge. "I don't understand," he whispered. "How can you…"

"It's not that I see a better Chrona inside you." She lay a hand on his smooth cheek. "The Chrona I like is right in front of me—the same Chrona who spent so much time making lunch for everyone, who was so concerned about Black Star's injuries, who wanted to apologize and make everything right again, because he cares so much about his friends. The Chrona who jumped in front of Medusa's arrow to save me." Maka placed a hand against his chest, over his heart. It beat hard and fast against her palm.

She rested her head against his shoulder. "I've seen what you're like inside," she whispered. "In your soul. I know that when you were little, you were so gentle that you would cry when someone stepped on a spider. You were such a kind little boy, Chrona. And she made you kill things." Her hand tightened on his shirt, and she pressed closer against him, feeling his rapid breathing. "She twisted your mind around until you didn't know who you were anymore, so you hid deep inside yourself to try to protect what was left of your soul, and it hurt you so much, but it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. I wish I could make you understand that. I wish I could make you see…" She tilted her head back, looking up into his eyes. Tears glinted at the corners. "Chrona?" she whispered.

He swallowed. "Maka, I…I'm not…"

"Not what?"

He lowered his head, and his messy, uneven pink bangs fell in his eyes, hiding them. "Nothing." He wiped one arm across his face. "M-my apartment is right here. Thank you for walking me back."

"You're welcome." She paused. "Are you okay?"

He gave her a strained smile which didn't reach his eyes. "I'll be fine. Thank you. For everything."

She hesitated.

Chrona was a bundle of paradoxes. For most of his life, he'd been denied love and simple human contact, which had left him with a deep hunger for those things—but when surrounded by others for too long, he became overwhelmed and had to retreat to his room for some corner time. Pushing too hard made it worse.

Still…the last time she'd sensed something wrong and done nothing, Chrona had nearly slipped back into Medusa's clutches. Maka had promised him that she'd never let it happen again, and she intended to keep that promise, even if Medusa was dead now.

It was a delicate dance, learning when to push and when to pull back.

She reached out, gently placing her hands on either side of his face, and tilted it so she could meet his gaze. "Are you sure?"

His cheeks grew warm under her palms. A complex mix of feelings swirled through his pale eyes—too many to sort through. Then he looked down and nodded. "I just need some sleep. I-I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Okay." She tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. For a moment, she was tempted to look deeper into his soul, to see what she could read there.

But that seemed wrong. Like peeping on someone in the shower…or worse, because the soul was more private than the body. She sometimes caught glimpses of his soul, like flickers of candlelight in her peripheral vision, but she hadn't truly merged with him since that first time, during their battle. It felt like so long ago, now.

Reluctantly, she released him. "I'll meet you here tomorrow at sunrise, okay? We'll face Shinigami-sama together."

He smiled, but still, there was something sad in his eyes; a lingering shadow. "Thank you."

She watched him walk down the street and disappear into his apartment. She stood outside for awhile longer, looking up at the moon. It grinned down at her.

Maka turned and walked back toward her own apartment. It was late, and she needed sleep. Tomorrow, they faced Shinigami-sama.

She gritted her teeth so hard her jaws ached.

_I won't let them take you away from me, Chrona._

_Never._

* * *

><p>Chrona lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his insides twisted in knots. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, hugging the pillow to his chest, but he knew it was no good. He couldn't relax.<p>

Ragnarok poked his face. "If you don't get some sleep, you're going to be a wreck tomorrow."

"I know," he murmured. "I can't sleep, though. I'm too scared."

"You're always scared."

"This is different." He hugged the pillow tighter, pressing his face against it. "They're going to expel me," he whispered. "I know they are."

"So what if they do? Fuck 'em."

"You're the one who told me I'm too weak to survive on my own. And we can't go back to Medusa-sama. She's dead."

A pause. "Oh yeah."

Tears soaked into the cotton pillowcase. "I don't want to lose this. I don't want to be taken away from Maka." He didn't want to lose his other friends, either, but it was the idea of losing Maka that scared him the most. The thought of never seeing her again made his chest tighten and ache.

As a child, he'd spent a lot of time locked up, confined to a small, pitch black room as punishment for displeasing Medusa. When his mother shut the door, she never told him when she'd let him out again. He'd always been afraid that one day, she would just leave him there forever—that he'd never see light again, that he'd die alone and scared in that dark little room. Abandoned. He felt the same terror now.

He stared to cry, his shoulders shaking in spasms.

Ragnarok punched his head. "Stop bawling already. It won't help. Whatever happens in the morning is going to happen, and you can deal with it then, so you might as well get some sleep."

"I wish I could be like you, sometimes," he whispered. "I wish I could not care about anything. But I can't help it. I do care. I do."

"Crybaby." Ragnarok pulled on his ear.

"Leave me alone," Chrona muttered.

Ragnarok pulled harder.

"_Ow_. Stop it!"

A punch landed on his head. "Make me."

"You're so mean." The words escaped him as a faint whine. "Why are you always so mean?"

"Because you're a pussy! Why do you think?" More punches thumped into his scalp.

Chrona buried his face against the pillow.

If he hit back, even a little, Ragnarok _would _stop. Since Maka had made him smaller, he was easier to deal with. But at times like this, the punches and insults were almost soothing. They were familiar, and they distracted him from the awful cold fear seething in his gut. They were something he knew how to deal with.

As a child, Chrona had taken some small, confused comfort in Ragnarok's bullying, even as he cried and complained. Better than being all alone in that dark room. Better than the soul-freezing indifference in his mother's eyes. Ragnarok was utterly self-centered, so he was incapable of true hatred. Picking on Chrona was just a way to pass time and blow off steam.

Physical pain, in small, controlled doses, had a calming effect; this was a principal he'd discovered at an early age. A sudden blow to the nose was like a tiny bomb going off in his head, silencing the terrified chatter of his thoughts. A sharp tug on his hair sent a tingle of pain-released endorphins through his bloodstream, taking the edge off his nerves. The feeling of punishment eased the tangled, aching knot of guilt at the core of his being.

A razor running along the length of his arm could achieve the same effect...though he couldn't push too deep, knowing Ragnarok would harden the blood if he thought Chrona was getting ideas.

It was weird to find pain comforting, so he'd never told anyone, but it worked better than the pills that were supposed to help him sleep. He cried and whined reflexive protests against his pillow as Ragnarok growled and pummeled him. Then, when the last tears had been squeezed from his eyes and he was drained and empty and exhausted and sore, he drifted off.

* * *

><p><em>Chrona stares up at Medusa, his eyes wide and uncertain. She is holding a tiny black and white kitten by its scruff. "Wh-what is that, Medusa-sama?"<em>

"_It's yours," she says. "For the next month, you will feed it and care for it. If you lose it or if any harm comes to it, you will be in trouble, do you understand?"_

"_But why?"_

"_It's part of your training."_

_The kitten stares at him with round green eyes. Medusa drops it in front of him. It lands on its feet, turns to Chrona, and meows. Chrona recoils from it with a squeak of fear. "B-but Medusa-sama…I don't know how to deal with it."_

"_That's your problem now," Medusa says and walks away._

_Ragnarok pops out of Chrona's back and stares down at the kitten. "Can I eat it?"_

"_No! We're supposed to take care of it."_

_But he has no idea how to do that. For the first day, he hides from the kitten. But he hears its soft, pitiful mews and knows it's probably hungry, and he starts to feel bad for it. He looks around in the kitchen for something a kitten can eat. It ignores the bread and apple slices he offers, but it seems to like the milk and fish._

_So it goes. For the next month, Chrona feeds the kitten, cleans up after it, and even grows comfortable enough to pet its fuzzy little head. He can deal with the kitten. It is small and quiet and soft, like himself. Sometimes he dangles a string over its head and the kitten bats at it with tiny, clumsy paws._

"_Hey," he says to Ragnarok one day, "what should we name her?"_

"_Eh? Why do you want to name her?"_

"_Pets are supposed to have names, aren't they?"_

"_Do whatever you want. Seems pointless to me."_

_Chrona has never named anything before. But after thinking for awhile, he calls the kitten Patch. He wonders what will happen once the month is up, if Medusa will take her away. He doesn't want that to happen, and the realization surprises him._

_Then one day, Medusa picks up Patch by her scruff and leads Chrona to the room where he killed the Little One. She sets the kitten down in front of him. "Now, kill it."_

_He stares. Patch stares back at him with innocent green eyes, and Chrona feels like a big hole is opening up inside him. He starts to shake. "But…y-you told me to take care of her."_

"_Yes, and you have done that for one month, as I ordered. Now the time is up."_

"_I don't understand," he whispers. His throat tightens, and his breath whistles through it. "Why?"_

"_You've formed a bond with this creature. Now you will sever that bond with your own hands. It's part of your growth. A killer cannot have attachments."_

_Chrona stares down at his shoes. The room seems to be spinning. He can't kill Patch, can't hurt his friend. But if he doesn't, Medusa-sama will be angry, and he can't deal with her anger. He can't deal with any of this. He can't, he can't, he can't. Maybe if he just doesn't look up, doesn't react, this will all go away._

_Ragnarok pulls his hair. "Come on, you knew this was coming, didn't you? I mean, did you really think she just decided to get you a kitten?"_

_His vision starts to blur. "I—I don't—"_

"_You've already killed a human being, Chrona," Medusa says smoothly. "Surely, next to that, killing a kitten is nothing."_

_He closes his eyes. He can't look at Patch._

"_You know what will happen if you disobey me," she says._

"_I can't," he whispers. "I can't."_

_Her expression remains calm and empty as she grabs Chrona by the back of his dress, drags him down the hall, and throws him into darkness. The doors slam shut._

_It takes three days of starvation and solitary confinement before his hunger and misery override his desire to protect the little life that was entrusted to him. But in the end, of course, there is no choice. There never is._

_He kills the kitten._

_Afterward, as he cries, Medusa takes him into her arms—the embrace that only follows death—and she whispers to him, "You see, Chrona? Love is a small and powerless emotion. You loved that kitten, but that didn't stop you, did it? People like to talk about the grandness of love, and they swear up and down that they'll never betray their friends and family, no matter what happens. But once their own survival is threatened, they easily break. I've seen it happen over and over. In the end, power is the only thing you can count on, the only thing that will keep you safe." Cool, dry fingers stroke his hair. "It's a hard lesson, and one that most people never learn. I'm teaching you this lesson now because I want you to survive and grow strong."_

_Chrona hiccups and hides his face against her, clinging to the one who caused his pain, because there is no one else._

_He knows that Medusa-sama is right—that after killing a human, a kitten should be easy. He's killed so many animals. But somehow, this feels worse. Because the kitten trusted him. Because he was supposed to take care of it, and instead…_

_He betrayed that bond. Because he is too weak to defy his mother, he destroyed something even smaller and weaker than himself. Chrona closes his eyes. And for the first time in his short life, he really—truly, deeply—hates himself. _A person like me should die, _he thinks._

_It's right that Medusa-sama is cruel to him. It's right that Ragnarok beats him up and calls him names. Because he is bad. No one will ever love someone like him. How could they?_

_Medusa smiles, as if she can see the thoughts playing out in his head. "You understand now," she says, "don't you? I am the only one. The only one you can return to."_

_Chrona bows his head. And he knows, deep in his being, that she is right. "Yes, Medusa-sama," he whispers._

_She pets his hair. "Because you did as you were told, you may have dinner tonight. I'll even let you have seconds, if you wish."_

_But he isn't hungry._

_Later that night, as he lies curled in bed, Ragnarok punches his head and says, "Stop crying already. It's over."_

"_I can't help it." He hiccups. His nose is running and his eyes feel raw and sore and his pillow is soaked, but still, the tears keep coming. "I hate killing. I hate it more than anything. Don't you hate it?"_

"_Not really. It's just the way things are. I mean, look at us. What else are we going to do?"_

"_But…"_

"_Why not just roll with it? Feeling bad won't change anything."_

_Chrona doesn't understand it, how Ragnarok can just accept everything, how he can be _okay _with this. But maybe it would be harder, if Ragnarok hated this as much as he did. Maybe that's why Medusa put them together. And for the first time, he wonders…where did Ragnarok come from? He wasn't always Chrona's blood, was he? "Ragnarok," he murmurs, "who were you before she put you inside me?"_

_A long pause. "I don't remember," he says._

"_Ragnarok…" His fingers tighten on his pillowcase. "Do you hate me?"_

"_Huh? Why do you keep asking dumb questions?" He yawns. "Go to sleep."_

* * *

><p>Chrona woke and stared at the ceiling. There were tears on his cheeks, but it wasn't uncommon for him to wake up crying. He wondered, sometimes, why the past was so strong, why it couldn't just <em>stay <em>in the past, how something as intangible as memory could have so much power.

The faint, gray light of dawn crept in through the window. Ragnarok was still asleep inside Chrona, and the apartment was silent.

Medusa had been wrong about love. He knew that now. Maka had risked her own safety for Chrona's sake over and over. Chrona himself had risked his life to protect her. But still, Medusa's sinuous voice wound its way through his consciousness and coiled around his heart. _This will end, _the voice whispered. _You know it has to end. Love is a fleeting illusion. Happiness is a mirage. They'll send you away, and you'll have no one to return to. No one will ever hold you again. Do you see, now, how foolish you were to leave my side?_

Chrona drew in a shaky breath and sat up, knuckling tears from his eyes. He had to pull himself together. Maka would be here soon. He wanted to smile for her. He'd already caused her so much worry.

He'd just finished dressing and brushing his teeth when he heard a knock at his door. He opened it, and she was there. She smiled, though he could see the tension in her expression. "Ready, Chrona?"

He smiled back. His chest felt tight, as if a giant hand were squeezing it. "Ready."

* * *

><p>Maka hadn't slept much last night, but she wasn't tired. A sharp, electric energy hummed through her body and mind as she and Chrona walked through Shibusen's maze of hallways, to the Death Room. When they entered, Shinigami-sama was already there, waiting for them. His mask, as always, gave away none of his true feelings.<p>

The door creaked shut behind them. Chrona was pale, but he stood stiff and straight, in contrast to his usual hunched posture. She reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it. He squeezed back…then his grip slowly loosened, and his fingers pulled away from hers. It seemed to take him an effort.

Shinigami tilted his head. "Maka-chan, this concerns Chrona. There's no reason for you to be here."

"I think it does concern me. Chrona is my friend. And I'm afraid he's going to be blamed for something that's not his fault."

Shinigami breathed a sigh. "You grow more like your mother every day." There was a mix of fondness and exasperation in his tone. "She was a brave and fiercely loyal woman. But stubborn and pushy, too. Once she had her mind set on something, trying to talk her out of it was like trying to reason with a charging rhinoceros."

Maka tensed. Her first impulse was to defend her mother. But this was Shinigami-sama, and he was about to decide Chrona's fate; this wasn't the time or place for an argument. She bit her tongue.

"Now…" Shinigami turned his head, and his eyes—or rather, the eye-holes of his mask—fixed on Chrona. "What am I to do with you, Chrona-kun?"

Chrona flinched, but didn't lower his gaze.

"Black Star challenged _him,_" Maka said. "So why isn't _he_ the one receiving judgment here?"

"Students aren't forbidden from challenging or sparring with each other," Shinigami replied, "but they _are _forbidden from causing each other serious injury. Chrona is the one who went overboard."

Chrona hung his head.

"He didn't mean to hurt anyone," Maka said. "He just…"

"Lost control?" Shinigami inclined his head toward her. "Is Chrona not responsible for his actions, then? Does he not have the power to choose?"

Maka bit her lower lip. "It's not that simple. Medusa—"

"I'm aware of what Medusa did. Chrona was trained and molded as a killer. There are reasons behind everything, after all. Whether we lead good lives or bad, our actions are all influenced by a thousand factors, many of them outside our control. But what do we do, then? Do we just throw up our hands and say, 'no one is responsible for anything?' That we're all powerless? Does that strike you as the right way to live?"

A dull, burning heat spread through Maka's chest, and the muscles in her jaws tightened. She looked straight into the mask's eyeholes. "Stop playing word games. You _know_ that Chrona has a good heart and that he doesn't want to hurt anyone. So he slips up sometimes. Doesn't everyone? What will punishing him accomplish?"

"Most people, when they slip up, don't come within a hairsbreadth of killing their friends. Chrona is too powerful for slip ups. It's not fair, but that's the reality of the situation." Shinigami tilted his head to the other side. "So, what do you think, Chrona? What would you do, in my shoes?"

He looked up, blinking. "Y-you're asking me?"

"That's right. What do you think would be a fitting punishment?"

The question seemed to catch Chrona off balance. His eyes went a little glazed. "I…I don't know."

"Really?" He rubbed his chin. "That puts me in a difficult spot. I can't seem to come up with any ideas. I was hoping you'd have some."

Maka gritted her teeth. More games. "Shinigami-sama—"

"I'm asking Chrona. Please do not interrupt me." On the surface, his tone was still light and jovial, but there was something darker beneath, something that rarely showed itself. A cold trickle of fear ran down Maka's spine.

"Think about it seriously for a moment now, Chrona-kun," Shinigami said. "If you were me, and you were the one casting judgment, how would you deal with this? Black Star is lying injured in the infirmary right now. If not for Stein's skill, he would likely be dead. What fate would you choose for the one responsible?"

Chrona stood rigid, trembling and sweating. His eyes were huge, his face pale and drawn. He took a slow, deep breath and lowered his gaze. There were tears in his eyes, but when he spoke, his soft voice was steady. "I would not show me mercy. I've already b-betrayed you all once. I've caused you so much trouble. I _know _I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I—" He looked up, a glint of determination in his eyes, despite the tears standing there. "I love Shibusen. I love my friends. I don't want to lose this. I'll do anything to make up for my crimes, anything at all, if I can just stay here. B-but…" He gulped. "If you still want to expel me, I'll accept your judgment."

"Hmmm." Shinigami tilted his head further, until he was looking at them sideways. For a long moment, he was silent, simply looking long an deep at Chrona, as if weighing and measuring unseen qualities. Looking into his soul.

Maka couldn't stay silent any longer. She clenched her fists and glared at Shinigami. "If you expel him, I'm leaving the school too."

Chrona's head jerked toward her. "M-Maka—"

"Whatever happens, I'm staying with Chrona."

Shinigami turned that deep, probing gaze on her, and her skin prickled. "Is that so?" His voice was low and pensive. "Well, it would be a shame to lose two promising young Meisters." He swayed lightly back and forth, as if considering. "Chrona-kun, Dr. Stein has been working with you, hasn't he?"

"Y-yes."

He nodded slowly. "I'm aware of the issues you're struggling with. An incident like this can't be swept under the carpet, however. So…I solemnly forbid you from fighting with other students, and from now on, all your training will be done under the supervision of a staff member. Right, then!" Shinigami clapped his massive hands together. "I think that went well. Now, run along, or you'll be late for class."

Maka's stared, mouth hanging open.

Chrona's brows knitted together. "Y-you're not going to punish me?"

"You think that's not enough? Well, I suppose I could assign you some community service. Yes, that's it. Why don't you help clean up the damage you did to the park? Scoop up some of the dog poop while you're at it. There's always poop lying around."

The bewildered expression hadn't left Chrona's face, but he squared his narrow shoulders and said, "Y-yes, sir."

"Good! Now, off you go." He made shooing motions with one hand. "I have something to discuss with a colleague."

* * *

><p>After Maka and Chrona had left, Shinigami summoned Dr. Stein to the Death Room. Stein arrived shortly, hands in the pockets of his white lab coat. "You wanted to talk to me?"<p>

A nod. "About this incident with Chrona. What's your opinion? Is there a chance something like this could happen again?"

Stein hesitated. "It's difficult to say. In general, he's making progress, but he's still very fragile...and consequently dangerous. When Black Star ordered Chrona to fight him, it threw Chrona's mind into chaos. I doubt he'll make that mistake again, but there may be other things—things we're not aware of—which could send Chrona into a killing frenzy."

Shinigami folded his arms, his mask tilting downward as he gazed at the floor. "You think so?"

"It's possible. Maka's presence seems to stabilize him, but it's not always enough. This incident is proof of that." He paused, expression neutral, eyes hidden by the reflected light on his glasses. "Are you planning to expel him?" His tone was carefully controlled, but tension hummed beneath the surface.

"That's not an option," Shinigami said. "Roaming free with no one to mind him, he'd be a threat to himself and others. Of course, we could simply keep him confined, but that seems rather cruel, doesn't it? And as you've probably noticed, he has a fierce protector. Maka wouldn't sit quietly if we locked him up."

"Then what do you suggest?" Stein asked.

"We need to keep a close eye on him. Guide him carefully. See if you can get inside his head, find out what makes him tick." Stein's lips twitched and parted in a smile, showing a gleam of teeth. Shinigami added, "Don't take that too literally."

A small giggle. "I know. No handsaws. No scalpels."

"I don't want to see that child harmed."

Stein placed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. His shoulders had started to tremble, but now, they steadied. "I know. I would never...it's just difficult, at times."

"You're still having that problem, Stein-kun?"

"It's not as bad as it was." He drew in another deep breath. When he lowered his hand, his expression was calm again. "It's always been there. It won't ever go away. But I can control it, now."

"Just make sure it stays under control."

He pushed his glasses up with one finger. "Understood."

* * *

><p>Maka walked down the street, hands laced together behind her back as she watched Chrona from the corner of her eye. He hadn't spoken since they left the Death Room.<p>

She felt somewhere between relieved and disoriented. She'd been gearing up for a ferocious battle; she'd been prepared to lay it all on the line for Chrona's sake, to gamble with her education, her career as a Meister, her entire future. And then, after all that somber talk about responsibility, Shinigami had let him off with a joke of a punishment.

Of course, Shinigami-sama was always unpredictable. Who knew what went on in his head? But she was almost afraid to trust this, afraid there was something else happening beneath the surface. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

"M-Maka?"

She turned toward that soft voice. "Hm?"

"Did you mean what you said in there? Th-that…that if they expelled me, you would leave, too?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I meant it."

"B-but why? You have so many friends at Shibusen. Everything you love is here. Wh-why would you…"

"I couldn't be happy here without you," she replied. "If you left, I'd be thinking about you all the time, wondering where you were, if you were okay. It would eat me alive."

Chrona stopped walking.

She stopped, too, and turned to face him. He was standing with his gaze downcast, hair hiding his eyes. "Chrona?"

"I don't want you to lose everything for me," he whispered. "I…I'm not…"

Maka reached out and took his hands in hers. "I won't have to lose anything," she said firmly. "And neither will you. Shinigami-sama isn't sending you away, after all. We're both staying right here. Everything is okay."

He drew in a slow, unsteady breath, nodded, and looked up. When his gaze met hers, he gave her a tiny smile—one of those rare, genuine smiles, shy and sweet and so beautiful it made her ache.

She would do anything to protect that smile.

"Hey," she said, "while we're out, do you want to get some ice cream?"

"I-ice cream?"

"Sure. There's a place right across the street." She tugged his hand and jogged toward the ice cream parlor. Chrona followed, stumbling slightly. When fighting, he had an easy, fluid grace, but otherwise he always seemed so awkward and cautious in his body, in his long, skinny limbs—like an adolescent giraffe walking on ice. The thought made her smile.

A few minutes later, they were sitting together on a bench next to the street, their ice cream cones melting rapidly in the blazing heat. The sun panted overhead, its rays beating down on Death City.

Maka licked a melting rivulet of mint chocolate chip ice cream from her cone and glanced at Chrona, who hadn't touched his yet. In the shop, he'd seemed overwhelmed by the number of flavors to choose from, and had finally settled on plain vanilla. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Don't like that kind? We can switch if you want."

"It's not just. I-it's just…I've never had ice cream before. I don't know how I'm supposed to eat it."

"You lick it." She demonstrated on her own. "Like this."

As he watched, a slight flush crept into his cheeks, and his gaze darted away. She wondered why. But then, Chrona blushed at almost everything. He gave the ice cream a small, tentative lick.

Ragnaraok sprung out of his back. "Hey, where's mine?"

"Oh, sorry," Maka said. "I forgot. We can go back and get one for you, if you—"

Ragnarok's huge mouth opened wide as he leaned down and chomped Chrona's ice cream, taking the scoop and most of the waffle cone in one bite. He licked his lips, drool sliding down his chin.

"Hey!" Maka glared at Ragnarok. "I said I'd get one for you! Why did you have to eat his?"

Ragnarok burped, spraying flecks of ice cream and cone into the air, and looked up at Maka. "I left him some."

Chrona stared forlornly at the tiny bit of cone left in his hand.

Before Maka could say another word, Ragnarok recoiled back into Chrona's body.

She sighed and smiled again, though this time, it was rather strained. Sometimes she _really _wished she could give Ragnarok a Maka Chop. "Don't worry, I'll go get you another one."

"I-I don't want to be any trouble…"

"You're not." She fished her coin purse out of her pocket and opened it, but there were only a few coins left at the bottom. Maka winced. She hadn't thought to bring much money. "Actually, um—do you want some of this?" She held her cone out to him.

He blinked. "But that's yours. I can't—"

"I don't mind. It's too much for me to finish, anyway." And Chrona really needed to eat more. He was painfully thin. She knew, from what she'd glimpsed of his memories, that Medusa had often starved him as punishment…and the fact that Ragnarok kept swiping his food didn't help, either. "Go ahead," she said.

His cheeks flushed again as he licked up a bit of the sun-softened ice cream. "It's good," he murmured.

They shared the cone, passing it back and forth.

It was nice, Maka thought, just to sit with him. She wasn't often alone with Chrona. Usually when they went out, it was as a group, all of them laughing and chatting…which meant she didn't get much chance to actually _talk _with him. Between Black Star's braying about transcending the gods, Kid's complaining about things being unsymmetrical, Liz's complaining about Kid's OCD, and Patty being…well, _Patty_, there wasn't much chance for Chrona's soft little voice to be heard.

"How have you been settling into your new apartment?" she asked.

"Fine," he murmured. After a long pause, he added, "It still feels strange, having a place of my own."

"Strange?"

"Like I don't belong there."

"It takes some time to get used to," Maka said. "But it's got to be nicer than living in that dungeon, anyway."

"It is. But—" He stared at the street, arms wrapped around himself. A pair of kids ran past, laughing. "Everything here is so bright," he murmured. "I'm used to darkness. I don't know how to deal with the light. But…it's so beautiful." His arms tightened around himself. "Sometimes I feel like I've just woken up from a long nightmare. Like all that time I spent with Medusa, all the k-killing…it was just a bad dream, and this is the real world." The muscles of his throat convulsed as he swallowed. "But sometimes I feel like _this_ is the dream. Like one day I'll wake up and I'll be back with her and none of this will be real."

Maka lay a hand over his. "It's real." Her fingers curled around his, squeezing gently. "_I'm _real. And this is where you belong. Here in Death City, with your friends, with all the people who care about you." She looked into his eyes, long and deep, wanting him to know that she meant it, wanting him to believe. "This is your world now."

* * *

><p>They walked back toward their apartments. It was a Sunday, so there were no classes, no reason to hurry. Maka strolled at a leisurely pace, hands laced together behind her back, as Chrona walked beside her. "This was nice," he said quietly.<p>

"It was. We should do things like this more often."

"I kn-know you're busy. I don't want to impose—"

"Chrona, you're not imposing. We're friends."

He blushed. "I know. But…" He trailed off, staring down at the street. "You have so many friends."

"That doesn't make you any less important to me." She watched him from the corner of her eye as they walked. "Say, Chrona…do you still write poetry?"

"S-sometimes."

"You never show it to us anymore."

"The last time I did, it seemed to depress everyone."

"I still liked it," she said. It was true. Even if they _were_ dark and gloomy, his poems were a window into a part of his mind that normally remained hidden. Chrona often stuttered and tripped over his words, and because of that, some people assumed he was simple-minded. But there was a lot going on under that messy pink hair, for those who cared to look. "I want to see more of your poems," she said.

He looked at her uncertainly. "You do?"

She nodded. "Show me sometime, okay?"

He walked in silence for a moment, staring off at nothing, and she could almost hear the whir of his thoughts. "I'll write one for you," he said.

"Really? Promise?"

He nodded. "Promise."

* * *

><p>That night, Chrona sat at his desk in his apartment in Death City, hunched over his notebook, a pen in one hand.<p>

He was going to write a poem for Maka.

But it had to be _good_. Most of the things he wrote were just depressing and dull. "Emo crap," as Ragnarok put it. Getting his feelings down on paper helped him deal with them, made them less scary somehow, but after that first incident, he hadn't made the mistake of showing his poems to anyone again. Exposing other people to the unfiltered contents of his brain just seemed cruel.

This was going to be different. He was going to write something beautiful, something that captured his feelings for Maka. It shouldn't be difficult. She was the most wonderful person he'd ever known. Just thinking about her made him warm inside and gave him odd, pleasant fluttery feelings in his stomach.

He started writing, but everything that came out sounded hollow and wrong. Within an hour, the desk and floor were littered with crumpled up pages. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, wondering why he couldn't make the right words come out.

His mind drifted back to the conversation they'd had the other night, and her words to him—that she'd always be there, no matter what. Her arms around him, her warmth. Her scent, like a drug, doing funny things to his head, making him giddy, making him want more. His cheeks grew warm, and he fiddled with the pen.

_Focus._ He needed to write. He placed the tip of the pen against the paper. But he kept getting distracted, daydreaming. He tried to remember all the times she'd hugged him. That night…and before that, in the desert…and that first time, when she'd held him close and whispered that everything was okay, and a warmth had spread through his body and soul, soothing his panic. It had felt so…so…

_Intimate._

She'd touched his soul. She'd looked at him; not the demon swordsman, but just him. Chrona.

His cheeks burned hotter. He placed a hand over his heart, which was beating a little too hard and fast.

What was happening to him?

Ragnarok emerged from his back and settled atop his head. "Hey, how long are we gonna sit here?"

"Until I can write a poem for Maka," Chrona muttered.

Ragnarok looked at the crumpled papers on the floor. "Is it that big a deal?"

"I want it to be special. She hardly ever asks for anything from me. I don't want to disappoint her. I want to do this right." Of course, hardly anything he tried ever turned out right. He'd wanted to make lunch for everyone, but that had ended in disaster…and even though his rational mind knew that the pork dumplings hadn't caused the fight, a part of him felt that they had. But a poem couldn't hurt anyone. Could it?

He chewed his thumbnail and started to write again. A moment later, he tore the page from his notebook and crumpled it up.

* * *

><p>He stayed up all night, hunched over his desk. Ragnarok recoiled into his body and went to sleep, but Chrona remained at his desk, head bent, pen scratching furiously across the page. As the hours dragged on, fatigue clouded his mind and blurred his vision. He stopped thinking and just kept writing numbly, his hand moving with no input from his conscious mind.<p>

He started to be scared by the words spilling out of him. Words of longing, of need.

He didn't understand them, what they meant. Didn't understand this burn, these images flashing through his mind, the way certain thoughts kept replaying over and over.

_Her warmth, her scent, her touch…_

The thoughts were invading him, overpowering him. He couldn't fight them.

The gray light of dawn crept in through the window and spilled across the floorboards. Chrona slumped over the desk, exhausted, face buried in his hands. He cried, tears dripping between his fingers and onto the pages—tears of frustration with himself and his inability to do this simple thing, tears of confusion over the way everything suddenly hurt and needed and ached.

At last, unable to bear it anymore, he slid a hand into his robe, between his legs, where the ache was centered.

Soft, shuddery little breaths echoed through the room, growing faster and harder, until at last a tiny, strangled cry escaped his throat.

He pulled his hand from his robes and stared at the slick fluid sliding down his palm.

Black, like his blood.

-To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Chrona sat in the corner, hugging his pillow. Sunlight peeked through the curtains, spreading across the floor, and he shrank away from it. He couldn't deal with light right now. He wanted to hide.

Class would start soon. He knew he should get up, shower, have breakfast and go to school. But he couldn't bring himself to leave his bedroom. The idea of seeing anyone right now, seeing _Maka _right now, was unbearable.

Before last night, he'd never done…that. It had happened in his sleep a few times, but this was different. What troubled him, more than anything, was that it had happened while he was thinking of _her_. He felt like he'd done something wrong, like he'd somehow betrayed her. Confusion and guilt swirled inside him, feeding on each other and growing, until his mood was as black as the fluid he'd scrubbed so desperately from his hand, washing and washing until his palm was reddened and irritated.

Ragnarok tugged at his hair. "What's the big deal? I bet Soul and Black Star and Kid all do it. Hell, if _I _had a dick I'd be doing it every day."

Chrona buried his face against the pillow. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, his voice muffled.

"Girls do it too. Maka probably does it."

A tiny, choked sound escaped Chrona's throat. For an instant, before he could stop himself, he thought about—but he wasn't supposed to think about that. About her like that. "Sh-she—I don't think—"

"What, you think she's all pure and proper just because she's Maka? I bet she rubs off every night. Wonder who she thinks about. What d'you think?" When Chrona didn't respond, Ragnarok poked his face. "Come on, don't pretend like you're not curious."

"Please don't tell anyone about this," Chrona whispered.

Ragnarok sighed. "Fine. You're no fun, you know that?" He recoiled into Chrona's back.

There was no way Chrona could go to school today. He might as well call in sick. He didn't want to talk to anyone, even in the mirror, but if he _didn't_ call, people might wonder where he was and come looking for him. After what had happened with Black Star, they'd want to keep a closer eye on him.

Not that he could blame them.

He walked over to his desk, picked up a small mirror, and breathed on it to fog the surface. He traced Dr. Stein's number into the fog.

Stein's face appeared a moment later. He was leaning back in his chair, smoking. "Morning, Chrona. Everything all right?"

"Y-yes. I mean…no, not really. I don't think I can come in to school today. I'm not feeling good."

"Bad mental day?"

Stein knew him too well. "Something like that." He lowered his gaze. His whole body felt heavy with exhaustion, and his mind was a dark fog. He just wanted to lie down. Wasn't the medicine supposed to stop this kind of thing? "I don't know if the pills are working," he murmured. "Maybe…m-maybe I can't be fixed. Maybe I'm just meant to be unhappy."

"You're not meant to be unhappy, Chrona. Give it time. If you're still not feeling a difference in another week, I can adjust the dosage again." He paused to crank the bolt in his head. "If you're in a bad state, though, I don't think staying in your room all day would be the best thing for you."

Chrona swallowed, trying to banish the lump in his throat.

Stein was right, of course. Chrona had said it himself; hell was in his head. Huddling in the corner, asking himself questions that he couldn't answer and couldn't escape from, would just make him feel worse. But what was the alternative? Was he supposed to go to school like this? He'd faint from embarrassment the moment he saw Maka. "I can't deal with anything right now," he whispered. "Just the thought of going outside or talking to my friends scares me." Pathetic. But it was the truth.

"Then what do you want to do?" Stein asked calmly.

"I want to sit and do nothing and not think or feel."

Stein took a drag on his cigarette. "You know that won't help." He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "Granted, I may not be the best person to hand out advice about feelings. But I do know that pushing them away doesn't work."

"I know."

Stein had told him things like that before…that if he wanted to move forward, he had to deal with his pain head on. To look at it, accept it, instead of hiding and avoiding.

What Stein didn't understand was that the pain had no end; it was a bottomless well. If Chrona didn't resist it, it would swallow him. If he allowed himself to fully feel his feelings, he'd never stop screaming.

"What triggered this mood?" Stein asked.

Chrona bit his lower lip.

Stein wasn't exactly a counselor. Even if Psychology _was _one of his many PhD's, he was generally more comfortable with cutting up brains than having in depth discussions about what went on inside them.

But sometimes, when prodded, Chrona talked to him. Stein was calm and matter-of-fact, and he took everything in stride. He was simply curious, as if Chrona were a puzzle he was trying to put together, so Chrona didn't feel like he was causing him worry or burdening him with his problems, the way he did when he complained to his friends.

Still, he couldn't tell him about this. Not this.

"I don't know."

A small sigh. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. If it gets worse, though, or if you start feeling the urge to do anything reckless, call me. Do you understand?"

Chrona nodded without looking up.

"You aren't alone anymore," Stein said. His expression hadn't changed, but his voice softened slightly. "You don't have to endure your pain in silence. There are people willing and able to help you."

Chrona nodded again.

He still didn't know why they cared, why they bothered, why they seemed willing to expend so much effort for his sake. He hadn't done anything to deserve their kindness. It would be more logical for them to hate him.

There _were_ people in Death City who hated him, who didn't want him there. But Maka and Soul, Black Star and Tsubaki, Kid and Patty and Liz, Dr. Stein and Marie-sensei…they all looked after him, they did their best to protect him from those other people.

Sometimes, he was so grateful that he thought his heart would burst. At other times, he almost wished they would be cruel to him, that they would push him around and mock him and hurt him, because he knew—deep down—that that was what he deserved.

He didn't know how to deal with their caring.

As if reading his mind, Stein said, "Just say 'thank you.' That's how you deal with it."

"Th-thank you." He looked down, feeling suddenly shy. "Dr. Stein? If you see Maka, could you tell her I'm okay? I don't want her to worry."

"She'd be more reassured if you told her yourself."

His breath caught in his throat. "I can't talk to her," he whispered. "Not now. I…I don't want her to see me like this."

"I see. I'll tell her, then." His image faded from the mirror.

Chrona wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He forced himself to stand and walk over to his writing desk, still covered with a snowstorm of crumpled pages. He sat and stared at the open notebook in front of him.

He'd promised Maka he would write a poem for her. He'd wanted to write about the way she made him feel. But how was he supposed to do that when his feelings were suddenly so strange and confusing?

Maka was the most special person in the world to him. She was his best friend. More than that, she was his ideal. She was everything he wanted to be but wasn't; strong, brave and kind, and so forgiving that she'd seen the good in _him, _the person who'd nearly killed her best friend. More than anything, that open heart—that boundless capacity for love and acceptance—filled him with awe.

Maybe if he just focused on those feelings—that simple admiration—and ignored everything else…

But he couldn't do that. The feelings were all tangled together. As he thought about her, he started to feel warm and flushed, as if he had a fever. He shut his eyes tight, as if that could make the feelings go away, and a tiny whimper slipped past his lips.

What was happening to him?

* * *

><p>"Hey," Soul said.<p>

Maka was sitting on the couch, going through the mail, hoping to see another postcard from Mama—but only half her mind was in the moment. The other half was preoccupied with thoughts of Chrona, who had missed school that day.

Stein had told her Chrona was feeling under the weather. She'd tried calling, to ask if there was anything she could bring him—she'd wanted to make him chicken soup—but he wouldn't answer his mirror.

"Hey," Soul said again. "Earth to Maka."

She looked up, blinking. "Oh. Sorry. What?"

Soul was standing in the kitchen, holding the half-open fridge door. "Are you going to the dance?"

Maka's brows drew together. "Dance?" Oh. Right. There was a school Halloween Dance coming up in a few days. "I hadn't thought about it." Really, given everything that had happened over the past few days, the dance had been the last thing on her mind. "Why?"

Soul shrugged, pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge, took a swig, and grimaced. He poured the milk into the sink. "Just wondered."

Maka stared at the pile of mail on the coffee table. "I'm not sure I'll even be able to go. I still have a lot of studying."

He smirked. "You've _always _got studying. As your friend, it's my solemn duty to drag you out of the apartment once in awhile. So, want to go together?"

Her head jerked up, and her mouth fell open.

Was Soul asking her out on a date? He'd said it so casually, as if it had just occurred to him. But then, he was casual about everything. "You mean…like, _together_?"

He scratched his cheek with one finger. "I mean just, you know, together. As friends."

"Oh." She blushed.

"Unless you want to go with him."

"Who?"

"You know. The person you've been talking about nonstop today?"

Her blush grew hotter. She picked up a random piece of junk mail and fingered the edges, just to have something to do with her hands. Had she really been talking about Chrona that much? She hadn't realized— "I'm worried, that's all. Besides, Chrona hasn't asked me."

"Well, there's no reason you can't ask, um—" Soul cleared his throat, laced his fingers together behind his head, and looked off to the side. "Hey, Maka. Can I ask you a really dumb question?"

"What is it?"

"Chrona _is _a guy, isn't he? I mean, Black Star was just confused. Right?"

Maka blinked at him. "What makes you ask?"

"Just a thought I had earlier. Chrona's technically a witch, even if his witchy powers haven't really developed yet. I mean, it's hereditary, right? The whole witch thing."

"Yes. But what…"

"You ever seen a witch who's a dude?"

Maka paused, thinking. "No," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean they don't exist. And Chrona might only be half-witch. We don't know anything about his father."

"Yeah. Come to think of it, I don't really know how it works or why all witches are born girls, but…the more I look at him, the more I wonder. He seems so…soft, you know?" Quickly, he added, "Don't get me wrong. I like Chrona. He's tough in his own way. But he's probably more girly than y—than a lot of girls I know."

Maka noticed the slip, and the corner of her eye twitched, but she let it slide. "Not every boy is like you or Black Star. Anyway, Ragnarok said he was a boy. I'd think _he_ would know." Actually, she recalled, Ragnarok had just said he wasn't a girl. But what other options were there?

Soul shrugged. "You're probably right. It's just a thought I had."

"What he's got under his robe is no one's business, anyway. It's not like I'm going to ask him. It would be rude."

Soul raised his eyebrows. "You mean you're not sure either?"

She averted her gaze uncomfortably. "Well, it's not like I've ever seen him naked."

"It's just weird to think…I mean, you're like Chrona's best friend. Hell, you've been inside Chrona's _soul._"

"Souls don't really have a sex," she murmured. "They're souls." Still, it _was _strange, to have joined with someone so intimately and not be completely certain. "I don't think it matters, anyway."

"It doesn't?"

"It's what's inside someone that counts."

"Yeah, but…" He cleared his throat. "It _would _make a difference if you ever…you know."

She looked up. "If we what?"

"Well, I guess I thought that you might be kind of...into him. Her. Whatever."

Maka stared. "Wh-why do you think that?"

"Well," Soul said, "when the world was being engulfed in the Kishin's madness and we were about to risk our lives in battle against Arachne's soldiers, all you could think about was that Chrona was still locked up in the dungeon. And when you found out he'd gone after Medusa, you abandoned our mission to follow him. It was the first time you ever directly disobeyed orders. Normally I'm the rebellious one."

"Chrona's my friend. I couldn't leave him."

"It's not just that. You light up when he's around."

"I do?"

"Like the sun."

Maka's face felt so hot, now, she was starting to worry her hair might catch fire.

She couldn't deny that what she felt for Chrona was different than what she felt for Soul or Black Star or Tsubaki, or—well, anyone else. Soul was her best friend, had been for a long time. But Chrona was something beyond that, something she didn't have a word for. He was special to her. What she felt toward him was so deep and strong, it could only be described as love.

But loving someone wasn't the same as being _in _love.

"It's not like that," she said. "I mean...it's different."

"What's it like, then?" He looked puzzled.

"I don't know how to explain it." She stared down at her bare feet, resting on the edge of the couch. "When I touched his soul, I felt everything he was. I understood him. It was more than resonance. It's like…if our souls were two shades of paint, and we touched and bled into each other, and now there's a little bit of me in him and a little bit of him in me. I feel like we're connected now. Like we're part of each other."

His brow furrowed. "So it's like, um…like a spiritual thing?"

"Something like that." But that wasn't quite it, either.

Maka's gaze hadn't left her feet. She curled and flexed her toes. "When I matched my wavelength with his…it felt right. Like recognizing a piece of myself that I'd lost. Something I'd been missing for so long, I didn't even realize…" She felt Soul's gaze on her and stopped, self-conscious. Her bond with Chrona was something very personal, something she wasn't used to talking about, even with her partner and roommate.

After a moment, Soul said, "Okay. Just let me know what you decide about the dance." He grabbed an orange from the fridge and walked out of the room.

Maka sat alone, hugging her knees.

What were Chrona and Maka to each other? What did you call a bond like this?

She liked being near Chrona. She liked looking at him; she liked the softness of his gentle voice, the touch of his hand, even his scent—something subtle, clean and darkly sweet, like rose petals and water and blood. The memory of his smile often flashed through her head at odd moments. But it was normal to feel that way about a friend, wasn't it? A close, dear friend.

A friend she'd almost kissed. At the memory, her hand flew to her face, fingertips brushing against her lips.

She'd almost kissed Chrona. How had she forgotten about that? Sure, he'd been catatonic at the time, but…

Maka shook her head. She was letting her imagination run away with her. Just because Soul had assumed she was in love with Chrona, that didn't mean she _was_. She didn't get weak-kneed and fluttery-eyed when Chrona came around. Her heart didn't start pounding like a jackhammer. One almost-kiss didn't equal a romance.

She wondered what it would be like, kissing him. If he would let her. If he'd tense up in panic or relax into it, trusting, lips parting under hers…

Why was she thinking about that?

Maka leafed through the rest of the mail, then turned on the TV and watched the bright images without comprehending them, her mind in a fog. Eventually she just switched it off and stared at her reflection in the dark screen.

After a few minutes, she went into her bedroom, picked up her mirror, breathed on it, and traced Chrona's number into the fog. She waited. And waited.

The mirror's surface flickered, and a voice came through. "Um…hi. This is Chrona." Her heart leaped—then sank as she realized it was just a recorded message. "I can't answer the mirror right now. Please leave a message…if you want to. I'll call back as soon as I can—" Ragnarok's voice interjected. "Unless we don't wanna talk to ya!" The mirror flickered and darkened._  
><em>

With a sigh, she set it down.

* * *

><p>Chrona sat at his desk, a pen in one hand, staring at the page in front of him.<p>

The mirror pulsed with soft light, signaling a call. Probably Stein checking up on him. He ignored it. He'd call back later, but he couldn't deal with talking to anyone, not now.

He'd promised Maka he would write her a poem. He couldn't give up…even if he felt like he was dragging every word out of his chest on a string of broken glass and barbed wire.

_You are the ocean_

_Lapping the shores of my dry soul_

_Soothing its fevered heat_

_With your cool waves_

A weight settled atop his head, and he felt Ragnarok leaning down to peer at the notebook. "The ocean? So you're saying she's huge and smells like fish?"

Chrona winced. Now that Ragnarok said that, it didn't seem like the best metaphor. He scribbled it out.

_You smell like the sun_

_When the clouds part_

_After a rare desert rain_

_And all is still and bright_

"Really? All I can smell on her is fruity chapstick. How do you know what the sun smells like, anyway?"

Chrona's cheeks grew warm. He put a hand on Ragnarok's face and pushed him away. "Stop it. This is personal."

"Well, what am I _supposed_ to do? I'm bored out of my skull. All you've done today is sit at this desk and write fucking emo poetry about Maka. 'Ohhh, Maka. You make my soul all wet. Come heal my little broken brain with your magical rays of lovey goodness!'"

Chrona hung his head. "I promised her," he said quietly. "But I can't find the right words."

"You _do _realize that if you ever show these to her, she's going to bust a gut laughing?"

"I know," he murmured. His fingers tightened on the pen. "Don't you think I know that?"

"Then again, you'd actually be _doing _something instead of stewing in your own angst, which would be a nice change of pace. You know what? Show it to her. Seriously. Who knows, you might actually get under that skirt."

He gulped, fiddling with the pen. "I-i-it's not like that. I'm not…"

"Oh come on. You think I don't know who you were fapping over last night?"

"Ragnarok!" The pen slipped from his fingers.

"Go on, just try to deny it. Who _else_ would you be thinking about?"

"That doesn't mean that I—that I'd ever—" He hugged himself, staring down at his desk. "I don't think I even could," he whispered.

"Why not? The damn thing works, doesn't it?"

"But…I'm just…"

He didn't know anything about _that._ About things like that. Medusa had never taught him anything except killing; Chrona's scarce knowledge on the subject had been pieced together from snatches of overheard conversation. Even if by some miracle Maka wanted to, he'd be too scared to do anything. He would ruin it with his trembling and fumbling.

"It isn't like that," he said again, wondering which of them he was trying to convince. "And…" A lump rose into his throat. "And she doesn't like me that way. If there's anyone she likes, it's Soul."

"Eh? Where do you get that?"

"He's just…so much _more._" His voice dropped to a faint, almost inaudible whisper. "A weakling like me…I should be grateful she's even my friend."

"God, you're lame!" Ragnarok rained blows down on his head. "You're so lame it _burns _me!" Chrona ignored him. Ragnarok's taunts had come to feel like the voice of his own thoughts. Didn't he feel the exact same way about himself? Didn't he hate himself for his cowardice?

_She would laugh, if she knew. You know she would._

But no, not Maka. Not his kindhearted friend. It would be worse than that. She would look at him with pity, with disappointment, with thinly veiled disgust. She would pull away.

He would lose her.

He couldn't deal with that. Maka was his anchor, his sanity. Whatever happened, he couldn't let her learn his secret...but he couldn't keep hiding in his room, either. She'd get worried.

He just had to push these confusing feelings deep inside, lock them away, and never tell anyone.

* * *

><p>Maka sat at her desk, scanning the classroom for a glimpse of pink hair. But Chrona was nowhere to be seen. This was the third day of school he'd missed, and he still wasn't answering his mirror. What was going on?<p>

Stein stood at the front of the room, holding a stack of papers. "I graded the tests you took on Monday," he said. He slammed the stack down on his desk. "These scores are pathetic. Ox-kun, you're the only one who got an A."

"Yes!" Oxford stood up, thrusting his fists toward the ceiling, then whirled around and pointed at Maka. "Suck on that!"

"_Maka Chop!"_

A dictionary slammed into his head, and he collapsed to his desk, twitching.

"Both of you, simmer down." Stein started passing out the tests. "This week I'm going to offer some extra credit assignments, so those of you who failed the test will have a chance to redeem yourselves. But you all need to start studying more, or you'll end up having to take this class again. And I don't think you want to be stuck with me for another year." He handed Maka a sheet of paper.

She stared at the red number on the front.

Soul looked over at Maka's test and raised his eyebrows. "An 89? For you, that _is _pathetic. Of course, for me it would be pretty good." He held up his own test, which was an 76, then he glanced at Maka's score again. "So what happened?"

"I haven't felt much like studying lately," she muttered.

Soul gave her a weird look and placed a hand against her brow. Maka blinked. "Soul?"

"Just checking to see if you're feverish. You don't _seem _sick. Had any knocks on the head lately?"

"I'm fine," she said, exasperated. "Everyone gets a bad grade now and then."

"It's just—you saying you don't feel like studying is sort of like Black Star suddenly discovering humility."

He was right, of course. For Maka, a B was usually cause for panic, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to care. She kept scanning the classroom, hunting for a flash of pink hair amidst the sea of heads, as Stein continued to pass out papers. "I've had a lot on my mind. That's all."

"Him?"

Maka lowered her gaze and nodded.

"He's probably just got a bad flu," Soul said.

"That doesn't explain why he's not answering his mirror." No matter how sick he was, he wouldn't ignore her like that unless something was really wrong. She was certain. "For some reason, he doesn't want to talk to me."

"Don't you think you're over-analyzing this?" Soul leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. "Maybe he's just been sleeping a lot."

Maka sighed. Maybe it _was_ nothing. Maybe any moment now, Chrona would walk in the door of this classroom and—

She looked up, and her jaw dropped. Chrona stood in the doorway, hugging his books to his chest and glancing furtively around.

"Ah, Chrona," Stein called. "There you are. Take a seat. Class is just getting started."

It took everything in her not to leap to her feet, run over to Chrona and tackle him in a hug. Instead, she smiled and waved to him. His gaze met hers briefly, then skittered away. He approached in small, tentative steps and sat in the empty chair next to hers. "H-hi, Maka."

"Hi, Chrona." She paused, her gaze searching his face. Was it her imagination, or were his cheeks even gaunter than usual? The dark circles around his eyes were more pronounced, as well. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Somehow, it wasn't very convincing. He stared at the front of the room, where Stein was chalking figures onto the blackboard.

"Pay attention, everyone," Stein called.

Maka opened her book and listened as he began the lecture, but she kept glancing at Chrona from the corner of her eye.

After class, they walked down the hall together. Maka wondered why he wouldn't meet her gaze, why she couldn't think of anything to say to him, wondered why everything was suddenly strange and awkward. She wanted to ask why he hadn't been answering her calls, but something stopped her. The space between them felt fragile and brittle, as if the wrong question might shatter it.

She took a deep breath. "Chrona, I—"

"Ya-hooo!" The familiar whoop pierced the air. "Hey, Chrona! I've been looking for you!"

Maka looked up to see Black Star limping down the hall toward them, Tsubaki at his side. His arms, legs and head were still swathed in bandages…and he was holding a massive bouquet of pink carnations.

Her mouth fell open.

Black Star approached, movements stiff and pained, face pale and bathed in sweat. He thrust the bouquet toward Chrona, grinning in spite of his obvious discomfort. "Here!"

Maka's jaw was still hanging.

Chrona blinked, looking mystified. "F-for me?" He stared at the blooms hovering a few inches from his face. "I don't understand."

Tsubaki smiled at them, looking a little sheepish. "He asked me what he should do if he'd accidentally made a girl upset," she said. "And I said that maybe he should try flowers. I didn't realize he was talking about—well—" She glanced at Chrona.

Maka stared at Black Star, astonished. He _still _didn't know?

Black Star rubbed the back of his neck, his grin never wavering. "I felt bad about ruining the dumplings you made. I mean, you worked hard on those."

"B-but…I'm the one who…"

"I told you, little wounds like this don't bother me. I'm the man who transcended the gods! I'm invincible!" He laughed loud enough that several passing students stopped and turned their heads.

Slowly, Chrona took the bouquet from Black Star. He smiled tentatively. "Th-thank you, Black Star."

Black Star winked and gave him a thumbs up. "No problem!"

"H-how are your injuries? Do they still hurt?"

"He's supposed to be resting right now," Tsubaki said, "but he keeps sneaking out of the infirmary."

"I'm totally fine," Black Star. "Nothing slows me down! I—" He swayed on his feet, and his eyes drifted out of focus. "Why are you all spinning?" he murmured. "Hold still. It's…it's making me…" His eyes rolled back, and his legs crumpled.

Tsubaki caught him as he fell. She sighed, slipping an arm around his waist. "I should get him back to bed." She gave them another sheepish smile, then turned and walked down the hall, half-leading, half-carrying Black Star.

Chrona was still staring at the carnations, a small, puzzled furrow in his brow. "I don't know how to deal with flowers," he said. "What do I do with them?"

"Um…well, you should probably put them in a vase with water," Maka said. "Once you get home, I mean."

"I guess I should go do that now, before the next class. Otherwise I'll be carrying them around all day."

"Yeah. You probably should." Her own voice seemed to be coming from far away. She'd missed her chance. Now he was leaving again.

Maka watched him walk away, holding his enormous bouquet. She remembered Chrona's smile when Black Star first handed him the flowers.

She wondered why she suddenly felt so strange.

* * *

><p>Later, Maka walked to one of the balconies overlooking Death City and sat on the stone ledge. She stared down at the buildings spread out beneath her, tiny as toys from this distance.<p>

This was the balcony where she'd first brought Chrona when she was showing him around the school. She remembered the wonder in his expression as he stared out over the sunlit city.

She should go home, she supposed. It was getting late. The sun hung low in the sky, drooling. The temperature was dropping; up here, it was much cooler than on the ground, and she hadn't worn her coat. A breeze ruffled her hair, and a shiver ran through her.

She heard footsteps behind her and looked over her shoulder.

Chrona stood there, gripping one arm, gaze downcast. Maka drew in her breath sharply.

"May I sit with you?" he murmured without looking up.

"Of course," she replied.

He sat next to her on the ledge, close enough that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, not quite close enough to touch. He was shaking. Maybe it was just the cold.

"I've been worried about you these past few days," she said.

"I'm sorry." Thin shoulders hunched. She noticed his hands fisted tightly in his lap, knuckles white, clutching his plain black robes. "I should have called you."

"It's okay," she replied quietly. "I'm just glad you're here now." Maka looked out over the city, at the horizon. "Look." She pointed at the sun, which was panting like a tired dog, its eyes drooping. "It looks funny when it's falling asleep, doesn't it?"

A faint smile twitched across Chrona's lips. "I-it does." His gaze darted up briefly, then lowered. His lashes—the same pale shade as his hair—hid his eyes.

She wished he'd look at her.

Looking at his hunched shoulders, Maka found herself thinking about the embrace they'd shared after their battle, when she'd touched his soul...and then again in the desert after he'd fled Shibusen. She remembered the warmth and slenderness of his body against hers, the rapid beat of his heart, the fragility of his ribs.

Delicate. Like a girl. But despite his gentleness, there was a quality about him that was distinctly male, something she had difficulty putting words too. Or was she just projecting her own expectations onto him?

She tried to remember if she'd felt even the slightest press of breasts against her own when she hugged him.

_Would it matter?_

"Chrona…are you…" She stopped, biting her tongue again.

"Y-yes?"

"It's nothing," she said.

More silence.

"M-Maka?"

She looked at him. His gaze was downcast, his cheeks flushed pink, and she could see his pulse fluttering in his throat. "Yes, Chrona?"

He took a slow, deep breath. His fingers pressed into his arms so hard that the knuckles had whitened. "I'm going to keep my promise. But it might take me a little longer than I thought."

She blinked. "What promise?"

"You know. Y-you wanted to see more of my poetry. And…I said I would write something for you."

"Oh." In her worry over Chrona, she'd forgotten about that.

He looked at her uncertainly. "Do you still want to see?"

"I do! Of course I do."

"I wanted to give it to you today. I've been working hard, but I still don't have anything worth showing. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize." Surely _that _wasn't the reason he'd missed school. Had he been trying to write a poem this entire time? Had that single, casual request really affected him so much?

She hesitated, then reached out and lay a hand over his. He twitched, his breath catching. His whole body tensed. Maka froze. He didn't usually react like that when she touched him—as if her touch burned, as if it hurt.

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back. "Chrona…I like seeing the things you've written, but it's not a big deal. Don't worry about it, okay? You don't have to—"

"I promised." His voice was soft, but it held an undercurrent of determination.

She stared at him, at his profile, as he gazed out over the city. "Okay," she said.

They sat together in silence for another few minutes, watching the sun sink lower in the sky.

"We're having resonance training in the park tomorrow," she said. "Black Star and Tsubaki probably won't be able to come, but Kid, Liz and Patty will be there. Do you want to join us? We never really got a chance to try it with you."

He looked at her uncertainly.

Then she remembered. "Oh. Stein told you to take a break from training and missions, didn't he?"

A small nod.

"Still, there's no reason you can't come with us. I mean, even if you don't participate, you could just watch, so you'll know what to do next time."

Chrona hesitated…then nodded. "I'd like that. Sh-should I bring lunch again?"

"If you like. I bet everyone would appreciate it." Usually, she just grabbed something quick on her way out the door. "Are you feeling up to that, though? I know you've been sick. Maybe you should take it easy."

"I-I'm fine. And I like cooking for people. It makes me feel useful." He gave her a tiny smile. It was good to see him smiling—even if it didn't quite reach his eyes.

* * *

><p>They left the school and walked back together as the sun sank lower in the orange-stained skies. The streets were empty.<p>

Maka heard movement behind them. She turned…just as a rock came whistling through the air, toward Chrona. Her eyes widened, and she started to move, but she wasn't fast enough. The rock struck the back of his head, and he stumbled forward, eyes wide, stunned. His hand drifted to the back of his head, and his fingertips came away stained with black blood.

Three boys, no older than eight or nine, stood in the street holding rocks in their small, clenched fists. "Witch!" one shouted.

"Go back where you came from, you ugly witch!"

"Yeah, we don't want you here! Go away and die!"

Maka stared, stunned. A sharp pang lanced through her chest…followed by a flare of anger, like a burning coal lodged in her ribs. She tried to control it, to remind herself that these were just children, that they were just repeating hateful things they'd heard from their parents.

She took a step toward them, and they must not have liked what they saw in her face, because they flinched back. "Chrona saved my life," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. "He's my friend, and an ally of Shibusen. He's a good person. You shouldn't judge people you don't know."

Chrona stood motionless, trembling and hugging himself. His breathing had grown ragged.

The largest boy stepped forward and threw another rock.

Ragnarok popped out of Chrona's back and batted the stone away. "Get out of here, you little assholes!" he shouted. "Or I'll eat you!" He opened his mouth wide, strings of spittle hanging between his huge square teeth, and screeched at them.

They scattered and vanished, screaming, into alleys.

Maka frowned.

"What?" Ragnarok said. "They deserved it."

"Doing things like that will just make people more afraid of Chrona."

He snorted. "You think _reasoning_ with those little punks is going to help? They don't give a shit what kind of person Chrona is. They just want someone to throw rocks at." He recoiled into Chrona's back.

Chrona stared down at his square, black shoes. The fingers of one hand bit into his arm, and his shaky breathing echoed through the silence. Maka stared. "Chrona…" Tentatively, she reached out to touch his shoulder.

He tensed, drawing in his breath…then looked up, a horribly forced smile on his face. "It's okay," he said. "Th-they're just kids, and I'm used to it. Things like this. Besides…" The muscles of his throat convulsed. "People in this city have lots of good reasons to hate me, so I can't really blame them."

Her eyes widened. "That's not true."

"It is." He looked down at his shoes again. "After the things I did, I have no right to be upset about something like this. I-it's just a little blood…"

Maka hugged him tightly, fiercely. "Stop it," she whispered. "Stop pretending that it's okay. I know it's not. I _know_."

His chest hitched. "Maka…" Slowly, his arms encircled her.

She stroked his hair. "You don't have to hide it. Not with me."

His fingers tightened on her coat. Shaking, he pressed his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. "I can't lose this." His voice was faint, almost inaudible. "I can't."

"You're not going to lose anything, Chrona." Her arms tightened around him. "No one will send you away. Those people don't matter. They don't know the real you."

But she knew it wasn't that easy to brush off. And she wished—not for the first time—that she could somehow make everyone in Death City see the Chrona that she saw. They would all adore him if they could just _see._

She held him for a long time, in the middle of the street. At last, she pulled back and touched the back of his head. She stared at the black blood glistening on her fingertips. "You should see Dr. Stein about this."

"It's nothing," he murmured. His head tipped down, messy bangs falling in his eyes. "I can deal with it...because you're here. As long as you're with me, it's enough. I j-just…don't want to lose this."

Why did he keep saying that? "You're not going to lose me," Maka said. "Not ever."

* * *

><p>The next morning, Maka and Soul arrived at the park to find Kid, Patty and Liz already waiting. Chrona was there too, sitting under a tree and reading a book. When she called out to him, he looked up and smiled—but still, his gaze wouldn't meet hers. He hadn't looked her in the eye once since he'd come back to school.<p>

She wondered if it was her imagination.

Chrona, as it turned out, had brought seven bento boxes; one for everyone, including himself and Ragnarok. Maka opened hers and stared in astonishment at the elaborate array of sushi rolls and rice balls shaped like tiny animals. Pandas, cats, little octopi made from the ends of hot dogs…she might have expected this sort of presentation from Marie, for whom cooking was an art and an obsession, but not Chrona.

"This is amazing," she said. "How long did this take you?"

He shrugged, his gaze downcast. "I-it wasn't that hard. Awhile ago, I bought a book about making things like this. I've been practicing."

Kid gasped. She looked over and saw him grinning in delight, eyes sparkling. "Symmetrical! Perfectly symmetrical! And look at this. Eight octopi, eight legs each…_and they're arranged in a figure eight._"

"Hey Chrona," Liz said, "Did you make that one special for him? Fair warning, if you coddle his neuroses, he just gets more demanding." A pause. "Still, that was nice of you."

Chrona blushed, ducked his head, and mumbled something inaudible.

Kid didn't seem to hear them. He was busy measuring the sides of the box with a tape measure he'd pulled out of nowhere, murmuring approval.

Stein was standing nearby, leaning against a tree and smoking. He smiled as he watched.

"D-Dr. Stein? I didn't know you'd be here. I didn't bring enough." Chrona fumbled with his bag. "H-here, you can have mine, if you like…"

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I already ate."

Patty was playing with her rice animals, making them fight each other, then biting their faces off with great sadistic relish. Liz watched her with a smile that was fond and amused and exasperated all at once, while Kid ate slowly and methodically, taking a bite from each item in turn so the whole thing would stay symmetrical. Ragnarok opened his mouth wide and upended his box over it, eating everything in one massive bite, then started stealing sushi rolls from Chrona until Maka noticed and slapped his paw. Ragnarok stuck his tongue out at her.

Once they'd finished eating, Stein snuffed out his cigarette and straightened. "All right. Practice time."

Soul stood, brushing grass off his pants. "Group resonance works the same as the bond between Weapon and Meister, right? The more in synch we are, the greater our strength?"

"That's correct," Stein said. "And you'll need all your strength. There've been witch sightings reported near Death City recently."

Chrona's eyes widened. "A witch?"

Stein nodded. "We don't know anything for sure. But it's best to be prepared."

Kid nodded. "If a witch _does _attack the city, we'll need every able set of hands."

Chrona drew in a deep breath and stood. "D-Dr. Stein…may I join in?"

Stein glanced at him. "I think it would be better for you to sit this one out."

"Please." Chrona's hands curled into fists. "I w-want to help…to get stronger, so if something happens, I can f-fight with everyone else and defend Shibusen. So I can protect my home and the people I care about. Please…let me join."

Maka stared, her mouth open slightly.

She knew how much courage it took for someone like Chrona—someone who'd been conditioned to obey orders, whose will had been broken and ground down through years of cruelty—to make a request like this. He was terrified of asserting himself. He couldn't even ask for soy sauce when they went to a restaurant, so strong was his desire not to impose on others. For him to stand up for himself like this, to risk rejection and disapproval because he wanted so badly to protect his home…

A flush of pride and love spread through Maka's chest. She had a crazy urge to break into applause.

Stein stared at Chrona for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. "All right. Everyone, take your positions."

They all stood in a circle. Soul, Liz and Patty transformed and leapt to their Meisters' hands. Chrona gave Maka a shy smile, which she returned. Then he took his place, standing across from Maka and Kid, the three of them forming a triangle.

She'd never resonated with him…not since that first time she touched his soul. A tingle of excitement raced down her spine.

* * *

><p>As soon as Chrona took his position, he realized he'd made a terrible mistake.<p>

Maka could read souls. If they resonated, he would be wide open to her, his insides exposed like one of Stein's specimens on the dissection table. She would see all his feelings, all his secrets…including what he'd done while he was thinking about her.

If that happened, he would die on the spot. The shame would burn him alive, would pierce his heart like Medusa's arrow, would incinerate his being like an Anti-Demon Wavelength.

He hadn't thought this through before speaking. But it was too late to stop now. He couldn't just sit back down and say he'd changed his mind. Everyone would _know _something was wrong. He stood his ground, heart hammering against his ribs. Sweat trickled down his sides. There had to be _something _he could do, some way to hide his feelings.

He visualized himself pushing all those feelings into a corner of his soul, walling them off, sealing them up. He had no idea if it would work, but he didn't know what else to try.

Maka looked at him, a small furrow between her brows. "Chrona, are you all right?"

"F-fine." He forced a smile, sweat trickling down his face.

"Ready?" Kid called.

Chrona looked up, his attention focusing on Kid's golden eyes.

He'd never been completely comfortable with the young Shinigami. Even if Kid was nice to him now, Chrona still vividly remembered their first meeting, the cold contempt in those eyes as Kid spoke the words _I judge you._

What had changed, between now and then? Was it just that Maka had accepted Chrona? Had she somehow influenced the others' feelings toward him? If anyone had the power to change hearts, she did.

Even so, could he really resonate with someone like Kid?

"Chrona?" Kid said again.

Chrona took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm ready."

Kid's soul flared around him, blazing like the sun, so bright Chrona could scarcely look at it. Maka's soul glowed around her with a steady, soothing light. He could feel his own soul expanding along with Ragnarok's, surrounding his body.

"Good," Stein said. He was still leaning against a tree in his usual slouch, hands in his pockets. "Now, Chrona, connect your soul to Kid's."

"H-how do I—"

"Just focus all your thoughts on Kid. Reach out with your mind."

Chrona nodded and took a deep breath.

Kid. Shinigami-sama's son. Chrona didn't know much about him, except that he was obsessed with symmetry. They were friends, yet they hardly ever spoke. But Kid had liked the lunch Chrona made. He'd looked so happy when he opened it up. And he'd been nice to Chrona during their first party together, had smiled at him and told him that he could join their group at his own pace, that no one would run away.

A tendril of light arched out from Chrona's soul and met Kid's. He relaxed, then tensed as their souls flowed together. It felt weird, resonating with someone other than Ragnarok. Kid's soul slid through his, a prickly rush of energy, cool and sharp. It had a strange quality to it—both rigid and delicate, like some elaborate glass structure covered with razor-edged points. Nothing like Maka's warm, open soul.

Still, he could deal with it.

He wondered what his own soul felt like to them. Jell-o, maybe? A quivery mass that conformed to the shape of whatever held it?

Kid smiled and nodded approval at him, and Chrona smiled back tentatively. Kid didn't hate him, he reminded himself. Not anymore.

"Good," Stein said. "Now, both of you, connect your souls to Maka's."

Kid didn't hesitate; another tendril of light leapt from his soul and touched Maka's, mingled with hers. They flowed easily together, as if they'd done it dozens of times before—which they probably had.

Chrona froze. _If she sees…_ His heart rate spiked, and his throat started to tighten. His breathing came in small, sharp gasps. Dizziness rolled over him.

"Go on, Chrona," Stein said.

They were all waiting. Looking at him. If he waited much longer, he was going to pass out from hyperventilation. Maybe that was good. Then he wouldn't have to resonate, then she wouldn't have to see.

But no. Chrona had stood up and asked to be part of this. He couldn't run away, couldn't let himself dissolve. If he couldn't do something like this, how could he ever be worthy of their trust?

_But if she sees… _His heart rate kept climbing. His breath whistled in his throat.

Maka's brows drew together as she stared at him, her leaf-green eyes clouded with puzzlement. "Chrona?" Her voice was soft. Uncertain. He wasn't used to hearing that tone from Maka, but he recognized it because he felt it so often himself; fear of rejection. How could she feel that? Didn't she know that she was his world, that he was nothing without her?

Small, even white teeth tugged at her lower lip. "Chrona…what's wrong?" That tone again. That fear.

He couldn't let her feel that. Not even for a moment.

He reached out with his soul, toward Maka. Once he'd made the decision, it was easy and natural, like reaching out for her hand. A jolt ran through him as their souls touched—a shock, like jumping into cold water. Then her soul rushed into him, through him.

Warm. Bright. Like sunlight spreading through his being, lighting all the dark places. He felt it mingling with Kid's and Ragnarok's soul inside his own. Soul, Liz and Patty were there, too—so many souls. It was overwhelming, shockingly intimate, like lying naked in the dark and feeling all their hands on his skin, touching him everywhere. At that thought, a flush rose into his cheeks. For a moment he was afraid they'd heard it, but their expressions remained calm, their eyes closed.

The knots of tension inside him loosened, just a little. Maybe this would be okay.

Their souls glowed brighter, spinning faster and faster as the power swelled. It would have been frightening, _should _have been, but Maka's soul was flowing through him, in him, around him. Soothing. Like fingers running through his hair, like snuggly blankets and hot cocoa on a cold day.

So much sensation. He felt giddy; like a glass of champagne, all golden and sparkly, with little bubbles swirling around inside him and rushing to his head. Then he felt something else, a pressure and heat coiling low in his body.

_Oh God. _It was happening again. He was—

_No! _He jerked back. His connection with Kid and Maka broke abruptly, like two cords snapping, and he reeled back into himself. He was panting and shaking, his guts clenching with fear, and _still _he was—

He dared a glance downward. His robe was loose enough that it didn't show, but he couldn't look at either of them. Especially Maka.

"Chrona, what happened?" Kid asked.

He sounded simply puzzled; not judging, not angry. Still, the words sent icy darts of panic through Chrona's chest. He gulped, mind fumbling for a lie they would believe. "B-b-b-bathroom!" he blurted out. He turned and bolted into the forest.

* * *

><p>Chrona ran until he couldn't see them, couldn't hear their voices. Finally he slowed and leaned against a tree, panting. He'd lost a shoe somewhere along the way, and his foot throbbed dully. He must have cut it on a rock.<p>

Always running. Running from his friends, from his feelings. Running from everything he couldn't deal with.

He leaned back against the tree and slid to the ground, where he huddled, curled in on himself.

Ragnarok burst from his back and settled atop his head. "What gives?"

He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his knees. "When she touched my soul…I was…" He shuddered, curling into a tighter ball. "I don't understand why this is happening to me."

"It's called a boner," Ragnarok said. "Get over it. Cripes."

"D-don't…don't say words like that."

"Well, how do you want me to say it?"

He didn't reply. Ragnarok let out an annoyed "tch" and vanished into him.

Chrona buried his face in his hands. This was too much. He could deal with the gentle sunlight of friendship; not with this blazing heat. She was a flame and she was burning him up, body and soul, and she didn't even know it.

He heard the faint crunch of leaves under approaching footsteps, and he tensed. His head jerked up.

Dr. Stein stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at Chrona impassively. "What was that about?"

Chrona lowered his gaze and started to tremble. "N-n-nothing."

Stein approached and slowly crouched beside him. "You know, Chrona, you're a terrible liar."

Chrona blushed, but didn't look up.

More footsteps broke the forest's hush, coming toward them. Chrona tensed, slowly raising his head.

Maka and Soul stood there, with Kid, Patty and Liz close behind them, all staring at him quizzically.

"Chrona…" Maka took a step toward him. "You're bleeding."

He looked down at his bare foot. There was a shallow gash across his sole, and black blood dripped out. "I-it's okay. It's nothing."

She crouched, looking at him. There was such concern in her eyes. Concern he didn't deserve. "Do you want to try again?"

Panic fluttered in Chrona's chest. "I…I-I…"

"Perhaps later," Dr. Stein said. "For now, I'm going to take him back to the infirmary. He'll need a few stitches for that cut." He swept Chrona up in his arms, bridal style, and Chrona let out a squeak of surprise. Without another word, Stein carried him away.

* * *

><p>Maka watched them go.<p>

"What do you suppose happened?" Kid asked.

"I don't know," she whispered. One thing was clear, though; it had something to do with her. Chrona had had no trouble resonating with Kid. It was only after he linked souls with Maka that something had gone wrong.

"Soul…" She turned uncertain eyes to him. "Do you think Chrona's angry at me?"

He stood with his hands in his pockets, staring into space. "I don't think that's it."

"Then what?"

"Beats me."

Maka's gloved hands curled into fists. Chrona—her dear friend—was shutting her out, so much that they couldn't even resonate. What had she done wrong? How had she lost his trust?

-To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

AN: I'm excited! I now have fan art for this story, courtesy of the very talented Bosbabe. Check it out. Here's hoping the link works, but if not you can look up her name on Deviantart… .com/art/Our-Breaking-Point-217183974

* * *

><p>In the infirmary, Stein deposited Chrona onto a paper-covered table, sprayed a numbing liquid over the small gash on his foot, cleaned it, and stitched it shut. Chrona sat upright, watching him work.<p>

"Now…" Stein set down his needle and sutures and cranked his bolt. "I don't know what's going on in your head. But it's disrupting your wavelength and your ability to resonate. Before you can resume training and missions, you need to get your feelings sorted out."

Chrona bowed his head. He'd disappointed everyone again. "I'm sorry."

For a long moment, Stein was silent, and Chrona could feel the weight of the professor's gaze on him. "You know," Stein said, "you don't have to do this."

Chrona looked up, blinking. "Do what?"

"You don't have to keep pushing yourself." His voice was neutral, unreadable. "I'm aware that you never chose to be a fighter. You were forced into this role from the start. You can always choose another path."

Chrona's eyes widened. Cold crept into his chest and wrapped around his heart. "You're telling me to leave Shibusen?"

"I'm not telling you anything. I'm asking you to think seriously about what you want. You wouldn't have to leave Death City or stop seeing your friends, even if you pursued another career."

"I…" Chrona looked away, his chest tight. His gaze jerked back and forth, and his breathing quickened. He didn't know what Stein wanted him to say. He felt as if he were being tested. Of _course_ he didn't want to leave Shibusen. This place was his home. He would do anything to stay.

He swallowed, pulse hammering in his throat. "I…th-that is…"

Stein placed a finger beneath his chin and lifted his face. Chrona tensed. "It's all right," Stein said. His voice was low and gentle. "I'm not angry at you. I'm not testing you. You don't have to worry about displeasing me or disappointing me." He smiled. "Sometimes a question is just a question."

Chrona relaxed, just a little. "I want to stay here," he whispered. "I want it more than anything. F-for the first time in my life, I have something to fight _for._ I don't want to lose this." He wondered if Stein was beginning to doubt his abilities. Chrona couldn't blame him. But he _needed_ this bond to Shibusen, to his friends. To Maka. How else could someone like him be useful to others? He had a Weapon fused within his body. Fighting was all he knew. "I-I'll try to do better. To _be _better. I swear. Just tell me what I need to do, and I'll—"

"Chrona, it's all right. I wanted you to be aware that there are other options, that's all...but if this is what you truly want, no one will send you away. All young Meisters and Weapons encounter some stumbling blocks in their paths. Overcoming them is a normal part of growth."

"I know. But…" How could he overcome something like this? "I don't know what to do."

"Then tell me. Maybe I can help you."

Chrona sat, his hands balled into tight fists in his lap. How could he possibly explain it?

"Based on what happened during resonance training, I suspect it has something to do with you and Maka," Stein said.

Chrona's breath caught in his throat.

"Have you had a falling out?"

"N-no."

"Then what?"

Chrona bowed his head, gripping his knees. He'd started to tremble. "I don't know what's happening to me," he blurted out. "I can't stop thinking about her. I'm always h-hot and dizzy, and my stomach feels funny and my heart won't stop pounding, and it aches and…I'm scared."

"That's what this is about?" Stein asked. His voice was strangely gentle, strangely unsurprised.

Chrona nodded miserably. "I don't know how to deal with my body doing all these…things. I've never felt like this before."

Stein paused. "Chrona…" He cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "How much do you know about sex?"

Chrona tensed, and his fingers tightened on his knees as the blood rushed to his face. "A little," he murmured.

"You know how it works? Human reproduction?"

"Y-yes." He fidgeted. "B-b-but it's not like I'm...I m-mean, w-we're not going to...do anything."

"Even so, if you have any questions you want to ask me..."

"N-no." He had the sense that Stein didn't really want to talk about this. Which was just as well, because if they _did _talk about it, Chrona was pretty sure he'd faint from embarrassment.

Stein relaxed a little. "Well, then…the most important thing to know is that these feelings are normal. When you're experiencing them for the first time, they can be very strong and overwhelming, but it's nothing to be ashamed about. Why don't you talk to Maka and see how she feels about you?"

Chrona's eyes widened. "I can't! Sh-she's not…I can't."

"This is obviously affecting you very strongly," Stein said. "Too much to simply ignore."

"If she knew…she m-might not want to be my friend anymore."

"Are you so certain she doesn't feel the same?"

He almost laughed. That Stein would even _ask_… "She doesn't," he said quietly. And even if she did, how could he possibly deal with everything that came after? Just the idea made him feel a little faint. No, he couldn't throw away what he had for the sake of something that couldn't even be.

Chrona's nails dug into his palms. "Isn't there a pill or something that can make it go away?"

Stein raised his eyebrows. "Is that really what you want?"

Chrona hesitated. Was it? "I don't know," he whispered. Scary and confusing though these feelings were, the idea of them vanishing was somehow worse. "I just don't know what to do. I want to be close to her, but I can't even look at her anymore without feeling all these things that I can't deal with, and I don't want to keep running away. C-can't you just…make it stop?"

"Perhaps…" His gaze lost focus, and a strange smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Infatuation is connected to dopamine levels in the brain. If I could control that…perhaps a powerful drug, injected directly into—" He stopped, his hands squeezing into tight fists. His breathing had grown heavy and ragged.

Chrona looked at him uncertainly. He didn't understand what Stein was talking about, but he didn't like the glazed look in his eyes. "Dr. Stein?"

Stein took a slow, deep breath, and his expression smoothed out. "Sorry. Just…lost sight of myself for a moment, there." He smiled reassuringly. "Anyway…these feelings are a part of life, even if they're confusing at times. Suppressing them wouldn't be healthy."

Chrona hung his head, feeling lost. "I can't sleep. I can barely eat. I feel like my mind is coming apart. I-is it like this for everyone? Or is there something wrong with me?" Silly question, thought Chrona. Of course there was something wrong with him. There were lots of things wrong with him.

"Being attracted to someone without knowing how that person feels about you is nerve-wracking, even for most people," Stein said. "But most people have some sort of emotional safety net to fall into if things don't work out. In your case, your friendship with Maka is the most stable bond in your life. It's natural that you want to protect that bond, and that any changes to it would cause you anxiety."

_Attracted, _Chrona thought. Was that what this was? Was he attracted to Maka? Somehow, the word didn't seem like enough, but he was afraid to think about what else it might be. "I'm just...so tired of being weak," Chrona whispered. "So tired of being scared." He wiped the back of one hand across his eyes. "The pills don't even calm me down anymore."

Stein hesitated. "If necessary, I can give you something stronger."

"Can you?" His voice emerged pathetically eager. At this point, he'd take any form of relief offered.

Stein opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle filled with shiny black capsules, like droplets of night…or Chrona's own blood. Chrona started to reach for the bottle, but Stein pulled it back. "These are very strong," he said. "Be careful with them. No more than one every six hours…less, ideally. Don't mix them with alcohol or any other sedatives. And only take them when you truly need them. All right?"

"I'll be careful. I promise."

Stein handed him the pills. "Also, I think you should try to keep active, avoid getting trapped in your thoughts. So…" He crossed his arms over his chest. "I have an assignment for you."

Chrona blinked. "An assignment?"

Stein nodded. "There's a Halloween Dance in two days. I want you to go."

"A dance? But I don't have anyone to go with."

"Ask someone, then. Maybe Maka—"

He squeaked and waved his hands frantically. "I couldn't!"

"Then ask someone else…or go alone, it doesn't matter. The point is just to get out of your apartment and out of your head for awhile." He smiled. "Have some fun. I know that isn't easy for you, but I think it will be worthwhile."

* * *

><p>Long after Soul, Kid and his partners had gone home, Maka stayed in the park, skipping rocks across the tiny duck pond which was probably the largest body of water in or around Death City. The sun sank lower and lower in the sky. She didn't want to go home. Didn't want to talk to anyone right now, even Soul or Blair.<p>

She remembered the way Chrona had recoiled, the way his wavelength jerked back from hers, as if he'd found himself touching a poisonous snake. She stared numbly at her reflection in the water.

Finally, she left the park and made her way through the twisted streets of Death City toward Chrona's apartment. She walked up the stairs to his floor and knocked on the door. "Chrona? Are you home?"

No answer. She tried again. "Chrona? It's Maka. Can we talk?"

Still nothing.

Maybe he was still in the infirmary, she thought. Or maybe he'd gone out for a walk. That was probably it. The idea of Chrona deliberately ignoring her was too painful to contemplate.

For a long moment, she just stood there outside his door. Then she turned and walked away.

She kept walking down the street, past the city limits, into the desert—kept walking until she could no longer see the city behind her. By that point, the sun had set and the moon grinned overhead, blood leaking between its teeth, washing the desert in its corpse-pale light.

She didn't know where she was going. She shouldn't be out here alone, not knowing that a witch had been sighted in the vicinity recently. But she couldn't stay put. A hot, restless energy burned inside her; a tight, twisted knot of pain burned and seethed in her chest. She had to keep walking, or it would expand and swallow her.

_Chrona, what's wrong? Why are you running from me?_

Her gloved hands squeezed into tight fists, shaking. She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Unable to hold in her feelings any longer, she threw her head back and screamed at the grinning moon…a long, drawn out howl of pain and frustration and longing. The echoes died down into silence.

Just then, she felt it: the flash of a vast and powerful soul, somewhere out in the desert. She gasped. Primal terror slammed into her, making her momentarily dizzy.

Then, abruptly, it was gone. Maka stood, shaking, one hand pressed to her racing heart. Cold sweat trickled down her sides and neck. She'd only felt it for an instant, but she recognized a witch's soul when she felt one.

Maka's pulse thundered in her ears. She was alone, Weaponless. Trying to fight a witch would be suicide. She could only hope the enemy hadn't sensed her presence.

Had she already heard Maka's scream? Had she dropped her Soul Protect out of surprise?

Maka turned and ran back toward the city, her legs pumping furiously, sand spurting up under her heels. She ran and ran until she was safely within the boundaries of Death City, then doubled over, gasping for breath, hands on her knees. A stitch throbbed in her side.

She needed to tell someone about this. Dr. Stein, or Spirit, or maybe Shinigami-sama himself. But then she'd have to explain what she'd been doing alone in the desert in the middle of the night. What was she supposed to say? That she'd been wandering around aimlessly and screaming at the moon because Chrona wouldn't talk to her? They'd think she was going crazy.

Maybe she _was_ going crazy.

She stopped in front of a darkened store window and took a deep breath. She couldn't put this off; it was too important. She breathed on the glass, fogging it, and traced in Shinigami-sama's number. A moment later, his comical mask appeared in the window. "Helloooo, Maka-chan!" He tilted his head. "It's a little late to be out and about, isn't it? Having trouble sleeping?"

"Not exactly. I was just out in the desert. I felt the soul of a witch."

"A witch?" His voice was suddenly low and serious. "Where?"

"I don't know exactly, but it was within a few miles of the city."

"I see. I'll send out a patrol at once…though if the witch sensed your presence, she's probably already fled."

Maka hugged herself, shivering. She told herself it was just the cool night air. She had defeated a Kishin; she shouldn't be so frightened of a mere witch. But something about that wavelength had chilled her to the core. "Dr. Stein said there've been other sightings recently. Do you think it's the same witch?"

"Probably. Her hideout must be somewhere nearby. We've tried to track it down, but she vanishes every time someone gets near enough to sense her."

"Why doesn't she attack?"

"Perhaps she's not powerful enough to attack us openly."

"That soul felt pretty powerful to me." Maka wondered how close she'd come to dying that night, and a fresh chill slid down her spine.

Shinigami-sama made a thoughtful sound and tilted his head. "Then perhaps she's just being cautious…or laying in wait, making preparations for an attack. In any case, thank you for alerting me, Maka-chan. I'll let you know if we make any progress." His image vanished from the window.

* * *

><p>When she finally staggered back into the apartment, she was exhausted and disheveled. One of her pigtails had slipped loose during her run, and there were dark circles under her eyes.<p>

Blair was frying fish in the kitchen, wearing an oversized t-shirt and nothing else. Even in her human form, she often didn't bother with clothes. Maka had to keep reminding her to put on a shirt so Soul didn't stain the carpet with his constant nosebleeds.

Blair looked at Maka in surprise, her small, furry ears standing upright. "Maka…what happened? Are you—"

Maka gave her a strained smile. "I'm fine." She couldn't explain, not now. She was so tired she couldn't see straight. Numbly, she walked into her bedroom and collapsed into bed, burying her face against the pillow.

* * *

><p>Chrona sat at his kitchen table, staring into his cup of ramen noodles, swishing them half-heartedly around with his chopsticks. He only cooked actual meals for other people. He could never get motivated to make anything except instant food for himself, and Ragnarok wasn't picky.<p>

It didn't help that lately, Chrona's appetite—always unpredictable—had completely deserted him. His stomach was a mass of butterflies and nervous cramps.

Ragnarok settled atop his head. He'd already eaten his own noodles, and now he was eyeing Chrona's. "If you're not gonna finish those, gimme."

Without a word, Chrona handed him the Styrofoam cup. Ragnarok poured the contents into his mouth, tossed the empty cup onto the table, and belched. "We got anything else to eat?"

Chrona looked at the Styrofoam cups littering the kitchen. "You finished all our ramen."

"What about those flowers?"

Chrona glanced at the bouquet of pink carnations he'd gotten from Black Star. They stood on the kitchen counter in a tall glass vase. "I don't think those would taste good."

Chrona still wasn't sure how to deal with someone giving him flowers. Maybe it was normal. Maybe friends gave them to each other all the time. But he didn't understand why. If you took plants out of the ground, they just died. Already, he could see the petals starting to wilt around the edges. One of them had fallen and lay curled on the desk.

Ragnarok chewed on a lock of his hair. "How long are you going to let that guy think you're a girl, anyway?"

"I don't know. When he found out I wasn't, he tried to fight me, and I almost killed him. I don't want that to happen again."

"So you'll just let him keep believing it? Because it's easier? Damn, just when I think you can't get _more_ lame, you find a way. You're like a genius of lameness."

"I don't really care." Chrona stared at the tabletop. "I just don't want to hurt anyone anymore."

A vision of Maka flashed through his head. Would it hurt her, if he told her the truth? Did it hurt to hear words like that from someone if you didn't feel the same way?

"Hey, are you thinking about that annoying cow again?"

"Don't call her that."

"What's so special about her, anyway? She's violent and bossy, and she's not even that hot. Tsubaki has bigger tits."

He blushed. "Maka's beautiful," he murmured. "But it's not really about that."

"So what is it?"

He gazed off into space. How could he possibly explain it? He'd been trying for days and days to put it into words, to find a poem that captured what Maka was to him, and he'd failed. "It's her soul," he whispered at last.

"Her soul, huh?" Ragnarok leaned down over his face, staring at him. "Want me to eat it? Then you'll always have it inside you."

He gave a start. "No! D-don't even joke about that."

"Who says I'm joking? Bet it'd be tasty. Bet it would feel good."

"I'd die before I let anything bad happen to her." Chrona said it matter-of-factly, as he'd state any plain truth.

"Yeah, I know you would. Just my luck, getting stuck with you." Ragnarok settled back onto his hair. "She's nothing but trouble, if you ask me. She isn't worth all this bullshit."

Chrona picked at the wood grain of the tabletop with a fingernail. Ragnarok was rude to people as a matter of habit, even people he liked. But the way he talked about Maka sometimes…it was almost like he resented her. Like he was mad at her about something. Chrona didn't know how to deal with that. Maka was the most important person in his life, and Ragnarok—in a strange way—was his oldest friend, the only person he'd been able to rely on in the long, dark years before her. The idea of them not getting along flooded him with anxiety.

Maybe it was his imagination.

"So if you're too chickenshit to talk to her, who are you going to ask to that stupid dance?" Ragnarok asked.

"I'll just go alone, I guess."

"Are you kidding? What's the point of going to that thing if you won't even bring a date?" He grabbed Chrona's head and shook it.

"Ow, stoppit!"

"If you're not going to ask Maka, then call Tsubaki or something!"

"I don't know." He fidgeted in his chair. "I'd feel weird about that. I mean, she's nice, but we don't really…"

"Ugh! If you drag me to that dance and then just stand alone in the corner the whole time feeling sorry for yourself, I swear I'm going to grab your ears and stretch them out so far that I can tie them in a knot!"

"That's not even _possible_…"

"Shut up! I'll decide what's possible."

"_Ow! _Cut it out!" Chrona stood and staggered into the bedroom as Ragnarok yanked on his ears. Chrona threw himself onto the bed and buried his face against his pillow. "I mean it!" he said, his voice muffled. "I'll hit back!"

"Do it then. But if you go to that dance without a hot date, I'll shove jellybeans up your nose."

"No! If I have jellybeans up my nose, I won't be able to smell anything!"

"Then call her!" he growled.

He blinked. "Call who? M-Maka?"

"No, idiot, Tsubaki! You're asking her to the dance."

"What? When did I decide that?"

"Just do it."

Chrona sighed, raised his head, and stared forlornly at his desk, where his mirror lay half-buried amidst mounds of crumpled poems. Maka was the one he wanted to ask. But he'd made up his mind not to tell her how he felt, and there was no way he could spend an entire evening with her without…without _that _happening again.

What was he supposed to do?

He curled into a tight ball, hiding his face against his knees.

* * *

><p><em>Chrona sits on an endless beach, surrounded by dry sand. He can hear an ocean lapping somewhere, but it seems so far away. His shadow stretches out from him, staring up at him with empty button eyes.<em>

Hi, _it says_. I'm Chrona.

_He doesn't answer._

Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

_This again. He thought he was done with this._

You've been thinking a lot lately, haven't you?

Pass_. A line appears in the sand._

You're not alone anymore. You're surrounded by people who care about you. Your pain is being taken seriously. It's nice, isn't it…being cared for? Doesn't it make you feel warm just thinking about it?

Pass_. Another line appears in the sand._

Everything you always wanted is right here. Yet you're still not happy. Why? Is it because, deep down, you know you deserve to suffer?

_Chrona hugs his knees to his chest. _Stop it, _he whispers. _Why are you saying these things now?

Who knows? I'm just you, after all. If I say you're a horrible person, it's only because you think so.

_He hides his face against his knees. _Leave me alone.

But there's more, isn't there? You've been thinking about her.

_No, not this, he thinks. Anything but this._

It's good having a friend, isn't it? _The shadow's voice is soft and knowing. _Sure, the others accept you. But she's the only one who knows the real you. She knows what you're like on the inside. She's seen your mutilated soul and your timid little rabbit-heart and that tangled mess of rubble and sparking wires you call a mind. And she still wants to be with you. Out of all of them, she might be your only real friend. But there are things even _she _doesn't know, aren't there? What happens when she finds out? About that?

She won't, _he says. _Nothing will happen.

But you want more. You want her. You want to be touched…to be loved. The very idea terrifies you, yet you can't stop thinking about it.

_He is shaking. _I—I don't—

People get married and have babies, _the shadow said calmly_. That's how things always happen in stories. But you know that's not possible for you…right?

Please go away, _Chrona whispers, his voice choked with tears._

You and Maka. The very idea is laughable, isn't it? What could you ever offer her? You're barely even a person. Maybe Medusa-sama was right when she said she was the only place you'd ever belong.

_Just go away, _he pleads. _I don't want to answer anymore questions._

Last one, I promise. Are you in love with Maka?

_Silence. Chrona stares into the shadow's empty eyes. That question, above all others, is the one he doesn't want to answer…yet the answer is so simple and obvious that he can't avoid it. He doubts everything—his worth, his identity, the color of his eyes, even his own name—but he cannot bring himself to doubt this._

Yes.

* * *

><p>For a long time, Chrona sat on the bed, silent and motionless. Then, slowly, he raised his head. He pushed himself to his feet, walked to the desk, sat down, and picked up a pen.<p>

The other day, he'd bought a little black leather-bound notebook in a secondhand store. He'd thought that having something nice to write in might inspire him, but he still hadn't written anything in it. The pages were thin and silky, like a mix between cloth and paper.

Chrona opened the notebook and stared at the blank page in front of him. Then he started to write. This time, he didn't bother arranging the words into lines and stanzas. He didn't try to rhyme, didn't hunt for metaphors and similes. He just filled page after page with his spidery handwriting, spilling out all his confusion and longing, all the words he'd been keeping locked inside him.

He wrote and wrote. His tears fell onto the pages, blurring the ink, but he didn't stop.

* * *

><p>It was Maka's turn to make dinner. Neither she nor Soul was much good at cooking, so that basically meant it was her turn to buy the hamburger helper and mix the noodles and sauce. Occasionally, they got adventurous and made stir fry or curry with chicken, but tonight, Maka didn't have the concentration for anything that didn't come from a box.<p>

They sat on the couch together, the TV on, and ate from plastic bowls.

"So," Soul said, "did you decide about the dance? It's tomorrow, y'know."

Maka slurped down another mouthful of noodles. "I'm not going."

"Everyone's going to be there. They'll all ask where you are."

"So tell them I have the flu or something."

"Jeez. You honor students really _are_ a pain. Haven't you studied enough?"

"It's not that." She stared into her bowl, poking at a chunk of beef with her plastic fork. "I just don't feel right about going to a party at a time like this."

"What d'you mean?"

"You haven't noticed? Chrona's going through something terrible, and he won't talk to me. I can't spend the night dancing and having fun, knowing he's probably huddled in a corner being miserable."

Soul muted the TV. "So what are you going to do? Just sit in the apartment and mope?"

She frowned. "Why does it matter to you, what I do?"

"Because you're my friend."

"Chrona's our friend too. Don't you care about what he's going through?"

Soul sighed and ran a hand through his pale hair. "Of course I do. But…Chrona's got a lot of issues to work through, things that can't be fixed just by talking. You know that better than anyone. There are going to be times when he's like this, when it's all too much for him and he needs to recharge his batteries before he can deal with people again. It's just how he is."

"What if something's really wrong? Last time he was like this, Medusa—"

"Medusa's dead."

Maka hugged her knees to her chest, staring into space. Her mind drifted back to that brief, overwhelming flash of power she'd felt in the desert.

Of course, the witch _couldn't_ be Medusa. Maka had personally incinerated her soul.

"I know he means a lot to you," Soul said. "But you can't fix him all by yourself. I don't think Chrona would want that for you, either. That's why he shuts himself away—because he doesn't want his pain to drag down the people he cares about. Especially you. If you try to shoulder all his burdens for him, it'll just make him feel more guilty."

Maka shut her eyes, squeezing back tears.

Maybe he was right. She just didn't know anymore. Her brain saw the logic in Soul's words, but her heart insisted that he was wrong, that Chrona's soul was in danger again and she needed to hold tight or risk losing him forever—and she didn't know which organ to listen to.

Still, Chrona wouldn't return her calls or answer his door. What was she supposed to do? Break into his apartment? Tie him to a chair and interrogate him? If he couldn't run away, he'd probably crack under pressure pretty quickly—

For a moment she found herself seriously considering the idea. Maybe she really _was _losing her mind. Maybe a night out would be good for her.

"Okay," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Okay, I'll go to the damn Halloween Dance." She forced a smile. "But in return, you have to promise that you'll play the piano for everyone. No excuses this time."

He grinned, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Later that night, in her bedroom, Maka breathed on the surface of her mirror. "One more try," she muttered and traced Chrona's number into the fog.<p>

No answer.

Sighing, she set the mirror down. She hadn't really expected anything else. A lump rose into her throat, but she stubbornly swallowed it.

No more worrying, she thought. No more moping. She'd go to the dance with Soul—comfortable, familiar Soul. Just a fun night out with friends. Maybe she'd even see Chrona there.

But somehow, she doubted it.

* * *

><p>Chrona stood in the shower, leaning against the wall as the hot water beat against his back and slicked down his hair.<p>

He didn't like being naked. Didn't like the sight of his own body—so pale and scrawny, ribs sticking out like a xylophone, thin white arms and legs covered with the faint, half-healed ghosts of scars.

Chrona had made some of those scars himself, back when he lived with Medusa. As a child, he'd spent countless nights curled up in the corner of his room with a kitchen knife, dress hitched up to reveal his skinny little legs, his mind in a fog as he sliced himself up, the knife-point peeling back skin, nudging aside hardened blood vessels, exposing muscles, tendons, bone. The pain was self-punishment, catharsis, and escape all rolled into one; his flesh was a puzzle to take apart.

He didn't do that anymore. Not since Stein saw the scars and gave him a look of concern that made his head burn with guilt. But sometimes he still felt the urge, like an itch under his skin.

His fingertips wandered over the softness of his inner elbow, over an old scar, slender and shiny. In so many ways, his body was a reminder of everything that was wrong and different about him.

His shoulders drooped, and he leaned his forehead against the cool, wet tiles.

Ragnarok burst from his back. "Hey! Are you going to wash up or just stand there staring into space like a zombie?"

Chrona squeaked in shock, his body jerking upright. "Ragnarok!" He covered his privates with both hands, blushing. "I've told you not to come out while I'm in the shower!"

"Tch! Like I haven't seen it before. Besides, you're taking too long. We're going to be late for the dance." He grabbed a bottle of shampoo, unscrewed the cap, dumped the contents over Chrona's head, and began to rub it vigorously into his hair.

"Ahh! It's getting in my eyes! It stings! Ow-ow-ow!"

Ragnarok gave his ear a sharp tug. "Quit your bitching, it's just soap. You don't want to keep Tsubaki-chan and her glorious tits waiting, do you?"

Chrona knuckled suds from his eyes. Why oh why had he let Ragnarok bully him into calling her? "I still can't believe she agreed to go with us," he muttered.

"What did I tell you? She's too nice and you're too damn pathetic to turn down. Just remember to keep looking sad. Who knows, we might get a sympathy panty-shot!"

Chrona leaned his head against the wall again. He knew that Ragnarok was trying to distract him—to keep Chrona's mind off of Maka and his hopeless, doomed love for her.

But Chrona really didn't want to face a roomful of people tonight. He wanted his corner. He wanted his pillow, the one with the soft cotton pillowcase that was perfect for absorbing tears and rubbing his cheek against, and which, when he closed his eyes, he could imagine was Maka…

Ragnarok's fist slammed into his nose, so sudden and hard that a flash went off in his head.

"_Ow! _What was that for?"

"You were thinking about your corner."

"No, I wasn't!"

"Yes you were. Cripes, I can't leave you alone for five seconds or you start drifting off to Emo Land. Don't _pout, _it makes you look dumb. Well, dumber than usual."

Chrona sighed. He rinsed, shut off the water, and grabbed a towel.

Once he was dry, he wandered into the bedroom, where his white suit was already laid out on the bed. His gaze strayed to the black notebook on his desk. He'd cut a heart out of red cloth and sewn it onto the black leather cover in small, careful stitches. He barely remembered doing that…but then, he'd been in a strange mental state last night, almost a trance. He'd spent hours filling the book with words addressed to Maka—all his raw, unfiltered feelings, all his dark little secrets, all his terror and pain and longing and desperate, aching need.

Of course he could never show it to her. It was out of the question.

He opened a drawer and shoved it inside, beneath a stack of papers. Slowly, he began to get dressed.

"Come on, hurry up!" Ragnarok punched his head. "Think of the panties. _The panties._"

"Tsubaki's not going to show us her panties." He wondered why Ragnarok even cared; he was always saying that Tsubaki was ugly. But then, he said that about everyone. "Don't say anything rude to her, okay? And—" He gulped. "If we see Maka…d-don't tell her anything. About…you know."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

><p>Maka stood in front of her bedroom mirror, turning back and forth. She'd chosen a simple, knee-length black dress with short sleeves and a square-cut neck. She didn't usually wear dresses, and seeing herself in them always felt a little odd, as if she were looking at someone else.<p>

She turned to Blair, who sat on the bed in her cat form, tail twitching at her side. "Does this look okay?" Maka asked.

"It's pretty," Blair said, smiling. "But if you want the boys to notice, you should wear something that shows off your breasts more."

"_Make Chop!_"

Blair yowled and skittered under the bed, narrowly avoiding the projectile dictionary. She peeked out with big, wounded eyes. "What's the matter? I'm just saying you've got a nice figure. People only think you're flat because you wear clothes that hide everything."

A flush crept into Maka's cheeks. That hurt expression, complete with drooping ears, was actually making her feel guilty. _Damn it._ It was hard to stay angry at Blair when she was in her cute kitty form. "I don't want anyone staring at my breasts," she muttered. "That's all."

Blair jumped back onto the bed and tilted her head. "Why not? I like it when men look at me."

"Well, I don't. It bugs me." She pulled on a pair of black silk gloves she'd bought with the dress. She'd gotten used to wearing gloves; she felt naked without them, now. "Anyway, I just want to relax and have fun tonight. I'm not out fishing for a boyfriend."

"Do you not like boys?"

She hesitated. "It's…not that I don't like them. I mean, my best friend is a boy. I've just never met one I wanted to date."

Her ears twitched. "What about girls?"

Maka's cheeks blazed hotter. She thought about giving Blair another Maka Chop, but that never seemed to deter her much...and Blair, being a cat, had no concept of human social etiquette. She thought nothing of waltzing around the apartment with her boobs hanging out in plain sight, after all. Maybe to her, this was a perfectly normal conversation. "You know, you shouldn't ask those kinds of questions," Maka said.

"Why?" Blair asked, blinking innocently.

"Because it's none of your business."

"Why not?"

"Because…it just isn't, that's all. And I've never felt that way about a girl either, if you must know." She pinned up her hair, wondering how she'd ended up in a chat about her sexuality with a talking cat. Her life was really surreal, at times.

"But you like _someone_, don't you? You smell like you're in love."

Maka froze. Slowly, she turned to stare at Blair, wondering if she'd misheard. "What did you say?"

"Your scent. It's like someone in love."

She realized her jaw was hanging open and snapped it shut. "You can…smell that?"

"I'm a cat. I can smell all kinds of things." She leaned forward, a playful glint in her eyes. "So, who is it?"

Maka fiddled with her earring. A pair of pale blue-gray eyes flashed through her mind. But she didn't want to talk about this, not now. Hadn't she made up her mind to avoid thinking about Chrona tonight? She wasn't even sure how she really felt. Her feelings were a tangled knot of confusion. "No one."

"Well, if you say so." Blair jumped off the bed. "I'm going to see if there's any fish left." She walked out of the room, tail swaying behind her.

Maka stood, staring into space.

"Yo."

The voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and Maka looked over her shoulder, surprised. Soul leaned against the doorway, wearing a black pinstripe suit and a tie. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. There was something at once very odd and very fitting about the sight of Soul in formalwear.

He grinned, showing sharp teeth. "How do I look?"

"Cool," she replied. Still smiling, she linked arms with him, and they walked out together.

* * *

><p>Chrona met Tsubaki at her apartment and walked with her to Shibusen, into the massive ballroom where the dance was being held. The lights were turned down low, and lanterns glowed everywhere, giving the vast room a faintly spooky atmosphere.<p>

Chrona had no idea what to say to her. He liked Tsubaki—she was always nice to him—but they were never alone together, and they'd never had a real conversation. They stood side by side, staring into space, occasionally smiling awkwardly and politely at each other.

"The decorations are nice, aren't they?" Tsubaki said.

"Y-yes," replied Chrona, who had no opinion about the decorations. He averted his gaze, clutching one arm. Guilt tugged at him. Tsubaki probably wanted to be doing something else right now. Something more fun than standing silently next to Chrona. He wondered if it would be weird to apologize for asking her out.

"That suit looks nice on you," she said.

"Th-thank you. Your dress is pretty, too."

More silence.

"Um…I'm going to go get some punch," she said. "Do you want to come with me, or…"

"Th-that's okay." He forced a smile. "I'll wait."

After Tsubaki had wandered off, Ragnarok burst out of his back and peered down at him. "Come on, you've got to say something better than that!"

"I can't think of anything."

"Tell her she has the ass of an angel."

Heat flooded his face. "I'm not going to say that!"

"Well then dance with her or something! If you don't stop being such a wet blanket she's going to get bored and ditch us."

"I think she already did. She's been getting punch for awhile."

"She better come back, or I'll give _you _some punch!" He recoiled into Chrona's body.

Chrona was starting to wonder if Ragnarok _liked_ Tsubaki. He didn't know how to deal with that concept. Did Ragnarok even get those kind of feelings? Maybe he was just hoping Chrona would start paying attention to someone other than Maka.

His gaze skimmed over the crowd…and his heart lurched.

She was wearing a sleek black dress, her hair pinned back, loose wisps framing her face, green eyes distant and distracted. She was walking arm in arm with Soul. Chrona gulped and ducked behind a pillar before she could see him. He closed his eyes…but the image of Maka and Soul walking side by side, arms linked, hovered behind his eyelids. Something dark and poisonous bubbled up inside him, something almost like madness. Was that…jealousy?

But he had no right to be jealous. He had no claim on Maka. It was none of his business. He shoved the feeling down, deep inside him. Still, his stomach felt suddenly hollow and his heart wouldn't stop pounding, rattling around in his skinny chest as if it would punch through his ribs and fly across the room. His breath came in little hitching gulps.

He thought longingly of the black pills in his bedroom, the one Stein had given him. Anything to blot out the cold, awful, sinking feeling in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered.

"Chrona? Are you all right?"

He forced his eyes open. Tsubaki was standing there, a worried look on her face. Chrona forced a smile, though his face was probably sheet-white and dripping with sweat. "F-f-fine." Air whistled in his throat as he struggled to breathe past the crushing pressure in his chest.

The room was spinning. He wondered if he'd be able to make it through the night without passing out.

"Um…should I bring you some water?" Tsubaki asked.

"I j-just need to rest here for a little while." He forced another smile. "R-r-really, I'll be okay. Y-you should go enjoy yourself. Don't worry about me."

"If you're sure." She cast another worried look over her shoulder as she walked off.

Once she'd vanished into the crowd, Ragnarok popped out of his back again and punched the top of his head. "You're hopeless. I go to all the trouble of getting you a date, and you blow it."

"I'm sorry."

"Never mind, I kind of expected it." He looked around and grabbed a glass of golden, bubbly liquid from a nearby table. "What's this?"

"I don't know," Chrona murmured. He straightened slowly, trembling. When he dared to peek around the pillar, Maka had vanished into the crowd.

* * *

><p>Maka looked around the dance hall. Black and orange streamers festooned the walls. On a table sat an enormous cake shaped like a grinning jack-o-lantern, real candles flickering in the holes of its eyes, surrounded by platters of appetizers and cold cuts. The room was packed with people. Every student and teacher of Shibusen seemed to be there.<p>

"Look at this." Soul plucked a glass from a nearby table. "They've even got champagne."

"We're too young to drink," Maka pointed out.

He grinned and raised the glass to his lips. "You know they loosen the rules for Meisters and Weapons." He sipped. "But there's grapefruit juice, too."

Maka hesitated, picked up a glass of champagne and took a small, tentative sip. She put it down again a moment later. She wasn't crazy about the taste of alcohol. Her gaze roved over the crowd…and caught a flash of pink hair. She gave a start.

_Chrona._

Her heartbeat quickened. Before she'd even made the decision to move, her feet were sweeping her toward him. She heard Soul's puzzled voice saying, "Hey, what—"

She kept walking.

He was wearing his plain white suit, the one he always wore on formal occasions, and he was staring off at nothing, his expression distant. Her heart drummed in her throat. "Chrona."

She saw him tense. Saw him turn toward her, eyes widening. Saw his pupils dilate as his gaze met hers. He was pale, his forehead bathed in a thin sheen of sweat. "Maka…"

For a moment, they stood motionless, just staring at each other. She smiled, suddenly shy and uncertain—two emotions she was decidedly _not _used to feeling. Was Blair right? Was she... "I didn't expect to see you here."

"D-Dr. Stein thought I should get out of the apartment for awhile." Chrona's gaze cut away. "He thought this would be good for me."

"Funny. Soul said the same thing to me."

A tiny smile curved his lips. A half-second later, the smile faded, and a strange expression flickered across his face. He was staring at something over her shoulder.

She turned to see Soul standing behind her, hands in the pockets of his suit, expression unreadable. "Hey, Chrona," he said. "How's it going?"

"F-fine." He looked down, gripping his arm with one hand.

"So, um…" Maka kept a smile on her face, despite the sudden, palpable awkwardness. "Did you come here with anyone, or…"

Ragnarok burst from his back and planted his hands atop Chrona's head. "He's with me, motherfuckers!" His voice was oddly slurred.

"Uh…she means like a date," Soul said.

Ragnarok hiccupped. "Oh. We're with Tsubaki!"

Maka stared. "Really?"

Chrona fidgeted. "I was just going to go alone, b-but Ragnarok said we should go with someone, so…"

"Yeeaaaah!" Ragnarok belched loudly. "We're on a hot date! You 'n me, kid, we get all the bitches. You just flash those big puppy eyes at 'em and leave the rest to me! Where'd she go, anyway? Damn, this is good shit!" He grabbed two glasses off the tray of a passing cocktail waitress, sloshing the contents, and emptied both into his mouth.

"Ragnarok, not so fast!" Chrona's eyes lost focus, and his cheeks turned pink. "Th-that stuff makes my head feel funny."

Ragnarok hiccupped again and dropped the glasses. Chrona caught them, fumbling, before they hit the ground. Ragnarok swung around to stare at Maka. "Oh," he said. "You're here."

"Of course I am," she said.

"You…you think you're sooooo smart," he muttered. "But you don't even know—" Another hiccup. "Oh man. Everything's spinny…" He recoiled into Chrona's back, vanishing.

The lights suddenly dimmed, and a DJ boomed out, "This one's for the couples!" A slow, gentle rock beat started, and a recorded voice started crooning a love song.

Maka, Soul and Chrona all stood in awkward silence, looking at each other.

Soul cleared his throat. "So, uh…are we gonna…"

"Ya-HOOO!" Black Star charged into their midst like a human wrecking ball, cheeks flushed. He slung one arm around Soul and another around Maka. "Great party, huh? I never knew champagne was sho good! Oh man, I love this shong! Shum-one dance wiff me!" He grabbed Chrona's hands and started dragging him toward the dance floor.

Chrona looked over his shoulder, his expression panicked, his wide eyes pleading mutely for help.

Maka winced. She grabbed Soul's hand and walked up to Black Star, dragging him along. "Whoa," Soul said, "What…"

Maka grabbed Black Star's shirt, pulled him back, and shoved him together with Soul. "Here, Black Star. Soul will dance with you."

"Yaaay, buddy!"

"H-hey, hang on—"

Laughing drunkenly, Black Star bounded toward the dance floor like an overexcited Labrador chasing a ball, pulling Soul along, apparently deaf to his stammered protests. Maka breathed an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, what are they thinking, serving all this alcohol to students?"

"A-at least he seems to be feeling better," Chrona murmured.

Maka nodded. "His injuries are almost completely healed." Black Star bounced back from sickness and injury faster than anyone else she'd met. His stamina was almost inhuman.

She turned to Chrona, and her face relaxed into a smile. "I hope you're having a good time so far."

He nodded, still gripping his arm. "I-it's nice."

Maka paused, then pinched one finger of her right glove and slowly pulled it off. She offered her hand to Chrona. "Do you want to dance?"

Chrona's eyes widened as he stared at her hand. Slowly, he reached out. His long, slender fingers closed around hers.

-To be continued


	7. Chapter 7

They walked toward the dance floor. The music was low and gentle, perfect for slow dancing.

Chrona hesitated, looking at her uncertainly. "Here," Maka said. She took his wrist and placed his hand on her waist. She tucked her black silk glove into his pocket, because her dress didn't have any, and linked her bare fingers with his. "Like this." She smiled up at him.

A blush rose into his cheeks as they began to move in rhythm with the music, stepping back and forth. At first, Maka led…but Chrona moved with an easy grace that surprised her, so she let him take over.

Chrona was a good dancer. Who knew?

His cheeks were still flushed. She wondered if it was the champagne. "I l-like your dress," he murmured.

"Thank you. You look nice too." Her gaze moved up and down the length of his body. The suit was close-fitting on his arms and shoulders but loose around his waist, hiding his curves where his robe made them more obvious. "I don't see you in clothes like this very often."

"D-do you like this better? Than my usual clothes, I mean."

She smiled and said, "I like both. But a change of pace is always fun." She could feel the tension in his body where her hand rested against his hip. "Relax," she said quietly. "You're doing just fine."

"S-sorry."

"It's okay." It was strange, sometimes, to realize that he was so much taller than her—she had to tip her head back slightly to meet his gaze—but at the same time, it felt right. "They say it's good for matching soul wavelengths," she remarked. "Dancing, that is."

"I didn't know that."

She was very conscious of his hand resting against her waist, the warmth of his skin through her dress. "Where did you learn?"

"Th-this is my first time."

"Really? You're a natural."

"I always liked watching people dance." His eyes had gone soft and unfocused, as if he were looking at something far away. "When I was very small, I saw a movie where couples were dancing in a room like this, twirling around and around. They looked so happy."

She wondered why he suddenly seemed so preoccupied, so troubled. Something about dancing? Lately, she never knew what was going on in Chrona's head.

They were standing so close, moving in rhythm, their wavelengths almost matched…and it occurred to her that she could learn the truth, if she wanted. She could find out what had been bothering him, why he'd been hiding from her.

Maka's power of Soul Perception wasn't telepathy—not exactly—but it was close. Sometimes, during battles, she and Soul could read each other's thoughts; it was easier with someone she knew well. And she knew Chrona. She'd been in his soul, as deep inside him as it was possible for one human to be inside another. Once you'd merged with another person like that, you never forgot his wavelength.

Her heartbeat quickened. She let her gaze drift out of focus and stared at his chest, at the luminous sphere of his soul. Her pulse drummed hard and fast. If she was careful, he'd never know.

It would be wrong. She knew that. Like reading someone's diary without his permission. A betrayal of trust. She shouldn't even be thinking about it. But what if he really _was _in some kind of danger? Maybe it was like that time with Medusa. Maybe he _wanted _to tell her the truth and was just afraid to.

Maybe just a quick peek…

Maka relaxed her guard, opening herself to his soul. The room flickered and went dark, and she was falling.

* * *

><p><em>Chrona stands outside the door to a tavern. It is raining, a cold, wet, soaking rain, and the sky is dark.<em>

_He doesn't want to be here. But his wants have nothing to do with anything._

_He pushes the doors open. Warm, smoky air and raucous laughter rolls out. The men inside are all big and rough-looking, and the few women are wearing too much makeup and hardly any clothes. Chrona wonders if they get cold, dressing like that._

_One by one the people all fall silent and turn to stare at him with narrowed eyes. It is always like this. Wherever he goes, people look at him with suspicion, as if they can sense his differentness._

_Of course, they are right to distrust him._

_A man spits on the floor and says, "Who's the pink twink in the dress?"_

_Another man smirks and says, "Maybe he's come to join the party." He has a hand up a woman's skirt, and she is smoking a cigarette, looking bored._

_Laughter fills the room, low and dark and drunken. The men start to stand and move toward him. Chrona just stares. Some of them are looking at him with amused disgust. Some look hungry, and he doesn't like it, he doesn't know how to deal with it, but it doesn't matter. Soon these men will be dead._

"_Is that even a boy?" the woman with the cigarette asks, her full lips twisted into a sneer._

_"Who cares? Meat's meat."_

_They all laugh as if the man has said something funny, but it is true. Chrona has seen the insides of people, and they are all meat.  
><em>

"_Let's find out. Whaddaya say?"_

_A rough hand grips Chrona's chin and turns his face. "Hike up those robes. Let's see what you got."_

"_Bet 'e's wearin' panties."_

_Someone snickers._

_Chrona just stares blankly._

_The man scowls. "You deaf, kid, or just stupid?" His grip tightens on Chrona's chin._

_Chrona feels a tingle of magic in the center of his head, and he knows that _she_ is there, watching through his eyes. _Kill them, Chrona, _Medusa's voice hisses. He feels the magic seeping through him, buzzing in his head and veins, clouding his vision. Suddenly the whole situation is funny._

_He smiles. "Did you know? My blood is black."_

_The man scowls. "What?"_

_His back begins to prickle and itch and burn. There is a sharp ache. Muscles spasm, and he gasps, doubling over, clutching his head. The men begin to back away from him in confusion. The burn in his back grows hotter, a thousand tiny sharp shooting pains…then Ragnarok bursts from him, huge and looming._

"_Hi," he says._

_Chrona barely hears the screams of, "Holy shit!" and "What the fuck is that?" He holds out his hand and quietly says, "Ragnarok." Ragnarok flows back into his body. A moment later, a sword materializes, and his fingers close around the hilt. He launches himself at the men, swinging, leaping, around and around, blood flying through the air, spattering the walls and floor, spattering his skin. So warm._

_He thinks about the people in the movie, twirling around and around, all the lights and smiles. It is easy to pretend, sometimes. The movements are a little similar. Ragnarok is his partner; the screams are his music._

_A wide grin spreads across his face as he spins and slashes, and he barely sees the chunks of brain and gore sliding down the walls. In his head, he is there with all the happy people._

_He is dancing._

_He stands in the center of the tavern, panting. No one is moving anymore. Souls float in midair, softly glowing, and Ragnarok purses his lips and inhales, sucking them all up. Chrona wonders how many more souls they'll have to eat before he becomes a Kishin. Not that it matters._

_Nothing matters._

_He hears a weak groan and looks down to see a man bleeding near his feet. Chrona raises his sword._

"_Please," the man whispers. "Please don't kill me."_

_He hesitates. The man's pleading expression twists into a snarl, and he yanks a gun out from under his vest. He fires. The bullet enters the skin of Chrona's chest and stops as Ragnarok hardens the blood. It stings a little, and he looks down at it without much interest._

You see, Chrona? _her voice hisses._ You can't trust anyone.

_The man's snarl falls away, and only terror is left. "What the fuck are you?" he whispers._

_Chrona doesn't answer. He brings the sword down, cleaving the man's skull in two. He hacks and hacks. Blood sprays. A wet chunk of something lands on his cheek and slides down._

_He looks around. "What should I do now, Ragnarok?"_

"_Do whatever you want." He burps. "I don't care."_

"_Should I play with the women's hair?" But these women don't look nice. They look like scary clowns in their makeup. He wishes there was a girl like the pretty redhead from last week. He stayed by her side for nearly an hour, winding her hair around his fingers and telling her his thoughts and feelings as she stared up at him with glassy, unseeing blue eyes._

_Only the dead listen to him._

_He wanders out into the street, into the rain, and stands there with his head bowed, letting the water pound down on him. The high has already faded, and in its place is an aching void. His limbs feel heavy, his brain thick with fog. He is shivering, clutching at his arms. Blood drips from his hair, his skin, his clothes. He wonders how many people he's killed by now. Three hundred? Five hundred? Does it matter? Do the numbers change anything?_

You have done well, _Medusa's voice whispers in his head, soft and sinuous._

_Her praise used to comfort him, but now he feels nothing. None of it means anything. He is a doll, a puppet moved by her strings, his every thought and action a product of her manipulations. His dreams and emotions and memories, all the things that make up his flimsy little identity—she sees them all, and they are all nothing to her. _He_ is nothing. She could erase him on a whim._

_He wonders why he is crying. Puppets don't cry._

* * *

><p>"Maka? What's wrong?"<p>

A small gasped escaped her, and her head jerked up. She was back on the dance floor with Chrona, standing stone-still, his hands on her shoulders. He looked worried.

Dazed, she looked around. Light, warmth and music surrounded her, a sharp contrast to the dark, rainy street. For a moment she didn't understand; she felt as if she'd woken from a nightmare. Then realization hit.

She'd seen one of Chrona's memories. Not just seen it, but relived it with all her senses.

How long had she been immersed in his mind, oblivious to her surroundings? It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, even if it had felt much longer; the people around them were still dancing, unaware that anything was wrong. Nothing like this had ever happened. The connection had never been so intense.

Her heart wouldn't stop pounding.

"Maka?" His grip on her shoulders tightened. "Please say something."

She forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong. I just spaced out for a minute."

A small furrow appeared between his brows. "You're crying."

Her hand flew to her cheek, and she felt the wetness of tears. "I…" Maka trailed off, lost for words. She couldn't tell him the truth; that she'd trespassed in his mind, that she'd stolen a glimpse of something he'd never intended her to see.

Her shoulders trembled under his hands. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just need a minute."

Chrona led her off the dance floor, to one of the marble pillars lining the room. She leaned against it, hugging herself. The memory of that tavern, that street, hung over her mind like a shadow of loneliness and despair. And that hadn't been an isolated incident. He'd spent _years _like that, acting on Medusa's orders, numbing himself to the horror by killing his own feelings. But he had never been able to numb himself completely.

Chrona stood clutching his arm, looking bewildered and worried. Cautiously, he reached a hand toward her. His fingertips brushed against her bare arm. "C-can I help?"

His eyes were warm, earnest. So innocent. So like and yet so unlike the broken, dangerous boy in that memory.

A few people were looking at them with puzzled frowns. Maka turned away and wiped her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was for a bunch of strangers to see her crying. "Let's go onto the balcony," she muttered.

"Okay," Chrona replied uncertainly.

She strode across the room, toward one of the balconies jutting out from the dance hall, overlooking Death City. Chrona followed her through the open doors, into the cool night air. The moon grinned down from the sky, blood dripping between its teeth.

Chrona was still clutching his arm. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked at last, his voice very soft. "Did I upset you?"

Those words made her ache. Of course, she thought. Of course he would blame himself.

She forced another smile. "No. It's nothing you did or said. It's just…" She fumbled for words he would believe. "The song they were playing. It reminded me of something sad, something that happened a long time ago."

The look of uncertainty remained, but he nodded.

The tension eased out of her shoulders. She felt guilty for lying to him, but she was glad he'd swallowed the lie, all the same. Chrona trusted her words too much.

Maka leaned against the railing, looking at him. In the moonlight, his eyes were pools of soft shadow. She glanced at his hands, at the long, pale fingers clutching his sleeve. She knew how strong those hands were, how easily he wielded Ragnarok with them, but they looked deceptively delicate. They had been made for painting, for writing, for playing a violin or a piano—but instead, Medusa had pushed a sword into them, had forced him to kill. Anger bubbled up inside her, and she pushed it down. There was no sense in dwelling on the past…and she liked Chrona just as he was, wounds and all.

But she still hated Medusa.

For a few minutes, they stood in silence, looking up at the night sky. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, but she held back, afraid of pushing him away again. He was here now, with her. Maybe that was enough. Maybe whatever had been bothering him, he was over it now, and they could be friends again.

His voice broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"About…wh-what happened the other day. At resonance practice."

She remembered the sight of him running away into the forest, a look of terror on his face. "What _did _happen, Chrona?"

The tip of his tongue crept out to moisten his lips. She saw the struggle in his expression, the way the muscles of his face tightened, as if a part of him wanted to tell her. Then he bowed his head, hair falling across his eyes. "I w-wasn't feeling well that day. That's all."

"Please don't lie to me."

He flinched.

She was a hypocrite, and she knew it; she'd just lied to him, after all. But it still hurt. Tears of frustration stung the corners of her eyes. "We're friends, aren't we?" she asked, desperation creeping into her tone.

"Yes. You're my best friend, Maka."

"Then why? Why don't you trust me enough to tell me the truth?"

"I-it's…it's not that…"

"_What, _then?"

"I can't explain." His voice was small, soft, miserable.

"Try." She was probably making things worse, but she didn't know what else to do. "Is this something to do with me? Is it something I did?"

"N-no!" He gripped his arm so hard, his fingertips whitened. His shoulders were rigid with tension, his head lowered, pain etched into every line of his body. "It's…nothing you _did._ B-but…I don't know if t-talking about it would help. This isn't something that can be fixed."

"How do you know that?"

"I just know." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry."

Maka stared down at her feet, her throat tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. He'd shut her out. Again. And there was nothing she could do.

She looked up and tried to smile. "Do you want to get something to eat? The food here is-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Ragnarok burst from his back and grabbed Chrona's hair, making him squeak in surprise. His voice was still slurred and drunken. "This is driving me nuts! Just _do _something already!"

"Ragnarok, don't—"

Ragnarok grabbed Chrona's hand and flipped up Maka's skirt with it, revealing a flash of white panties. "There! Wasn't that easy?"

Maka tugged her skirts down and took a step back, mouth open.

"What?" Ragnarok said. He planted his hands on Chrona's head. "Are you going to give me a Maka Chop? Go on! Beating up boys gets you hot, doesn't it?"

Her cheeks blazed. "You little pervert!"

"Ha!" Ragnarok said. "You're calling _me _a pervert? I'm not the one who tried to shove my tongue in his mouth while he was—"

Maka's clamped both hands over Ragnarok's face, muffling his next words.

Chrona stared at her with wide eyes. "You what?" His voice was weak, unsteady.

"N-nothing," Maka said, cheeks flushed. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Why did Ragnarok have to bring _that _up, after all this time? How could she possibly explain something like that? What would Chrona think of her? Supposing Maka found out that someone had tried to steal _her _first kiss while she lay in the infirmary, catatonic from emotional trauma, unable to react or resist—how would she feel?

She shot a warning glare at Ragnarok before removing her hands from his mouth.

"M-Maka?"

"It's nothing," she said again, giving him a strained smile.

He stood, gripping his arm, and looked away. "Okay."

"You're just going to take 'nothing' for an answer? _Really?_" Ragnarok grabbed his hair again and wrenched Chrona's head backward.

"Ow! Stop it, Ragnarok!"

"Then quit being such a pansy!" He yanked on Chrona's hair again. "You're always letting her push you around!"

Maka gripped the Weapon's tiny arms, immobilizing him.

He glowered at her. "Let me go."

"_I'm _always pushing him around?" Maka knew she shouldn't do anything to antagonize him, not after he'd come within a hairsbreadth of spilling her secret, but hearing that from _Ragnarok _was just too much. "You're the one who's always bullying him."

"Shut up! It's none of your business."

"It is _so _my business." She frowned. "Honestly, you're like a spoiled child."

"M-Maka...it's okay. H-he's just..."

"It's _not _okay," she said. "He shouldn't treat you like this. Someone needs to start getting stricter with him."

"Who said he even wants you to butt in?" Ragnarok struggled, but her grip only tightened on his arms. "I said _let me go_."

"Then stop pulling his hair," she said. "Don't call him names, either. Or hit him. You've got no right—"

"Quit acting all high and mighty!" His strange, X-shaped pupils rolled toward her, glaring. "You think you get to decide what's best for Chrona? I've been watching his back since he was five. You don't know anything about him."

Maka tensed. "That's not true." Ragnarok yelling at her was nothing new, but still—there was something in his tone she'd never heard there before. Something cold.

Chrona trembled, his head bowed. "P-please…please don't argue…"

But Maka couldn't let that remark slide. "I _know_ Chrona," she said firmly. "He's my friend."

"As if he had any choice about that!"

Her eyes widened. "What?" Maka stared at Ragnarok, wondering why her insides were suddenly coiled tight, why her heart was beating so fast. "What do you mean, he didn't have a choice?"

"What, you think he could've said no after you messed him up like that? What else was he supposed to do? Go back to Medusa? What the fuck did you _do_ to him, anyway? Did you brainwash him with that—that glowing hug thing?"

She'd started to shake, from anger or something else, she wasn't sure. "I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Yeah, you _don't _know. You don't know half the shit he's gone through because of you."

"Why are you saying these things now? What's the matter with you?" She didn't know how this had turned ugly so fast. Maybe she should just ignore him. But she couldn't. "You're just jealous, aren't you? You've spent so long having him all to yourself and treating him however you please, and now he has friends, and you resent having to share him. Well, he's not your toy!"

Chrona's breathing had grown heavy and ragged. "S-stop it…_please_…"

"You're one to talk, cow!" Ragnarok twisted around, trying to free himself. "You think you can just break into someone's soul and start stomping on shit and changing whatever you want? Like it's your personal property?"

She released the Weapon's arms, shocked.

He had _seen _all that? The oceanless beach, the line in the sand—

_You can't come in here. This is my space._

_It's easy to erase this line._

_Don't! S-stop it!_

"It wasn't like that." Her voice emerged thin and shaky. She felt cold inside, as if an icy had had squeezed her heart. "I wanted to help him. I wanted to be his friend."

"You've got a funny way of making friends, shoving yourself into his mind like some kinda rapist! Y—"

Chrona's fist shot up and cannoned into Ragnarok's chin, knocking his head back. Ragnarok fell silent, his expression dazed. "That's enough," Chrona whispered. His gaze was downcast, hair hanging in his eyes, thin shoulders trembling and heaving.

Ragnarok slumped over his Meister's head…then, without a word, he vanished into Chrona's body.

Chrona leaned against the rail, hugging himself.

Maka stood frozen.

She wanted to dismiss those words. Ragnarok was always insulting people, after all; that was just his way. Everyone ignored it, no one took it personally. But this…this was different. She opened her mouth to say something—she didn't know what—then closed it again.

"I'm sorry about the things he said," Chrona whispered without looking up.

"It's okay." Her voice was still a little unsteady. "It's not your fault." She waited for him to say that those words weren't true, that he'd chosen this for himself. But he said nothing.

"Maka, what was he talking about?" His voice was very soft, his tone unreadable. Pink hair still covered his eyes like a curtain. "Before—before you covered his mouth. What was he about to say?"

Maka averted her gaze, tangling her fingers together. She didn't want to tell him. But it was too late to hide. "After the fight with Black Star…I sat by your bedside for hours," she whispered. "No matter what I said or did, you wouldn't look at me or talk to me. You were right there, but you were so far away. I couldn't reach you. I was scared you wouldn't come back. I—I thought…" She bit her lower lip. "I thought it might wake you up. I mean…" She tried to smile. "It seems to work in fairy tales."

Slowly, he raised his head. His eyes held an odd, haunted, detached look. "Fairy tales?"

"You know. Like Sleeping Beauty?" But of course, Chrona's mother wouldn't have read him fairy tales. He probably had no idea what Maka was talking about. "Um…there's this part where the princess is in an enchanted sleep, and the only way to wake her up is a kiss from her true love."

Something shifted in his eyes. But still, she couldn't read them. Maybe it was the dim light. "A kiss? Y-you mean…you tried to…"

"I didn't know what else to try." She bit her lower lip, wishing she hadn't said so much. Bad enough that Black Star kept mistaking Chrona for a girl, and now she was comparing him to a fairy tale princess. Every word she spoke was probably just making this more confusing and embarrassing for him.

She forced a small laugh, trying to deflate the tension. "I know, it's silly."

"Is it?"

Maka stared down at her shoes and tried to swallow her heart, which had risen into her throat. Would he be uncomfortable with her, now? Could she blame him, if he was? "Listen. I-I shouldn't have done it. I was just so worried, and…I wasn't thinking straight, I guess. And it didn't even happen, anyway. Ragnarok stopped me. I asked him not to tell you, because I thought it would just make things awkward."

"Are you that embarrassed about it?" His voice was very faint, almost inaudible. "Is it that horrible a thing, that you almost kissed me?"

She looked at him in surprise. He stood stiffly, his gaze downcast, the fingers of one hand pressed into his arm. "That's not what I meant."

"It's okay," he murmured without looking at her. "I won't tell anyone." His tone was flat, but she could see his shoulders trembling. "W-we can pretend like it never happened."

"Chrona, that's not—"

"It's okay, Maka." His breathing quickened, and his fingers tightened on his arm. And still, he wouldn't look at her. "I know how it is."

Her heart pounded. She stood frozen, staring at him, ice water trickling through her veins. "What are you talking about?"

He bowed his head, gripping his hair with both hands. "It disgusts you, doesn't it?" he whispered. She had to strain to make out the words. "The very idea of…" A tiny, strangled sound escaped his throat. "I-I'm sorry. I _know _that you're not…that it's not…I'm sorry." His lips trembled, and he covered them with one hand. "I need to go."

He turned and began to walk away, his legs stiff, his movements jerky and mechanical.

She grabbed his arm. "Wait."

He tensed and tried to pull away.

For a moment, she almost let go. For a moment, she wondered if _she _was the reason behind Chrona's pain, if he was pulling away from her because she demanded too much, because she was always prying and poking, always ripping down his barriers, always invading his space and dragging him out of his comfort zone…

_Like some kinda rapist._

But she only wanted to help him...

Soul's voice echoed in her head: _You can't always protect him, you know._

Was she supposed to let him go? Let him walk away, just like that, knowing that everything was all wrong, that things between them had somehow gotten so tangled up?

_You can't fix him all by yourself._

Maybe if she tried to help, she would just make it worse. Hadn't she already made it worse? He was miserable now. Maybe sometimes, being someone's friend meant letting go.

But she couldn't.

If that argument hadn't happened, they both might have spent the rest of the night in awkward silence and then gone their separate ways with Chrona's secret still locked inside him. But they'd already come too far. There were too many fears and questions out in the open, too much that couldn't be bottled back up. If he left now, the wound between them would fester and never heal.

Maka tightened her grip. "Don't leave me." She could feel tears welling in her eyes. "Don't disappear. If I've hurt you, can't we at least talk about it?"

His breath hitched, and he tensed. He stood motionless, silent, staring straight ahead.

She slipped her arms around him, hugging him from behind, and pressed her face against his back. Her tears dampened his shirt. "Can't we, Chrona? Whatever it is, I want to make it better. I want to try."

He trembled against her. She could feel his heart pounding through his back. "If I tell you," he whispered, "it will ch-change things. Between us." A tear fell from his face, dripping to the floor near his feet, and his hands curled into fists. "I can't risk it."

"You're my friend, Chrona. Nothing you say will change that. If it's something you've done, I'll forgive you. I'd forgive you anything. If it's me...I'd rather you be angry than silent." Her arms tightened around him. "Just…don't shut me out."

He bowed his head, his breathing coming in small, unsteady gulps. His heart was beating so hard and fast, she thought it might burst through his ribs. And still, he said nothing.

Ragnarok's harsh words echoed in her head over and over. She wondered…did Chrona agree? Had he come to believe that this bond was something Maka had forced on him?

The thought hurt, more than she'd thought it possible for anything to hurt. The worst part was, she wasn't even sure it was untrue. What choice had there been for him, really?

Had he _ever _had a choice? About anything?

But now, she couldn't reach him. He was silent, he wouldn't look at her. She was holding him, but he was far away. Even when she'd faced the Kishin, alone and without a plan, Maka hadn't felt this helpless. Whatever she did, whatever she said, it just made things worse. She couldn't go on like this. Couldn't take another moment.

There was only one thing left she could think of, one thing left to try.

"I'm begging you," she whispered. Please…" She shut her eyes, squeezing him tighter, her cheek pressed against his back. "Please, please, please, Chrona. I'll do anything. Just tell me."

* * *

><p>Chrona stood, his back rigid. He couldn't breathe.<p>

Maka—his angel, his goddess, the girl he would have died for without a moment's hesitation—was begging him.

It was wrong. He wasn't worth this. Why did she care so much? Why did she try so hard to help him? Why did she, who had refused to submit even to the most powerful force of madness in the world, cast aside her pride for a cowardly, wretched little weakling like himself?

He pressed a hand over the sudden wrenching pain in his chest. His fingers tightened on his shirt.

She was suffering. He could hear it in her voice. Suffering because of him…and that was the one thing he couldn't endure. He took a deep breath, gently untangled himself from her arms, and turned to face her.

The pin had slipped from her hair. It tumbled loose and messy around her shoulders, shining in the moonlight. There was fear in her eyes, but more than anything, they were warm and concerned: sunlight melting away the last of his resistance, breaking through the shadows he'd gathered around himself like armor. She wasn't even angry about the awful things Ragnarok had said to her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry that I hid. I'm sorry I didn't answer my mirror when you called. I'm sorry for hurting you."

"I just want to understand. Why?"

"I was afraid."

"Of what?"

Chrona's fingers tightened on his arm.

In the end, he couldn't deny her anything. For most of his life, he had endured cruelty, abuse, indifference. He knew how to deal with those things. He still didn't know how to deal with this. He couldn't keep hiding, not knowing what it was doing to her, but if he tried to tell her the truth…

He couldn't do it. His voice would betray him, he would stutter and trip over his words, he'd say it all wrong, he'd have a panic attack on the spot. It would be a disaster.

But maybe there was another way. He thought of the black book buried in his desk drawer—the book he'd filled with his secret thoughts, his heart's desires—and his pulse quickened. The idea was terrifying, and he knew at once that he had to do it. Why else would he have written something like that? He'd known, on some level, that it would come to this.

"I promised I would write you a poem," he said softly. "I still haven't shown you anything. I'm sorry."

"I don't care about the poem, I care about _you._" She sounded as if she might start crying. "I care about my friend, and I want him back."

Tears swam into his eyes, and he blinked them away, clutching his arm. "I know it doesn't matter to you anymore. B-but…it matters to me, because you asked me to do it, and I wanted to keep my promise. I wanted to show you that I could do this one small thing."

"If it's that important to you, then just write _something_, anything. I promise to like it no matter what-"

"You shouldn't promise something like that. I don't...I don't want you to pretend. Not for me."

She fell silent. Her brows knitted together.

It was now or never. "I did write something," he said. "But it's not a poem."

"What is it, then?"

Suddenly, Chrona couldn't meet her eyes. It reminded him of their second battle together, how frightened he'd been by the strength in those eyes. Even now, he couldn't look directly at her…not because he didn't want to, but because he wanted it too much.

Was he really going to do this?

"It's just something I wrote," he said, his voice wobbling. "About you."

"About me?"

He nodded, his gaze downcast. "I'll show you…if you want."

A brief pause. "Show me," she whispered.

* * *

><p>Soul wandered the dance hall, frowning. He'd finally managed to untangle himself from a very drunk and excitable Black Star, and now he scanned the sea of people for a glimpse of blonde hair.<p>

"Hey." Liz walked up to him. "Everything okay?"

"I can't find Maka," he muttered. "I'm getting worried." He'd promised her he would play the piano tonight, too. He never liked playing in front of others, but he couldn't back out on a promise.

He wondered why he'd let her talk him into that, wondered why he was even here. Soul had never liked parties or dances, never been comfortable at any kind of formal gathering, yet somehow, _he _was the one who'd ended up dragging Maka here…and now she'd vanished like a ghost. His gaze swept over the crowd.

And then he saw her, walking across the room with Chrona at her side. Instinctively, Soul started to go after her, but something stopped him.

It made sense, he thought. He hadn't expected it. But somehow it made perfect sense, that they'd found each other here.

He stood, staring, as they walked out of the room.

"Hey," Liz said, "that was her just now, wasn't it? With Chrona?"

He nodded.

Liz tilted her champagne glass back and forth. "Pretty rude of her, leaving without telling you anything. You guys came here together, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"I'd give her a piece of my mind, if I were you. You gonna go after her?"

He hesitated…then shook his head.

"Why not?"

He smiled, closed his eyes, and said, "It wouldn't be cool."

She looked baffled, but shrugged and said, "Suit yourself."

* * *

><p>Chrona didn't look at Maka as they left Shibusen and walked down the street, toward his apartment. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.<p>

All he had to do was hand her the book. One simple movement, and all his secrets would be revealed. The thought made him dizzy.

He closed his eyes, and an image of Maka and Soul hovered in the darkness behind his lids; the two of them standing arm in arm, looking like they belonged together. Maka and Soul. It made sense. They were partners. They lived together. Half the students at Shibusen already assumed they were dating. And Soul was everything Chrona wasn't; confident, strong, self-sufficient, whole, sane.

Chrona didn't have a chance. Someone like him, someone like her…he'd _never_ had a chance. But he couldn't keep hiding. Not knowing how much it was affecting her. He couldn't allow her to suffer.

He kept walking numbly, one foot ahead of the other. If he hesitated for even a moment, he'd lose his courage. A crushing pressure filled his chest, as if a huge hand had gripped his heart and _squeezed._ Breathing was a struggle.

After all he'd been through, all the pain and despair and death, something like this should be easy. Maybe if he just kept telling himself that, kept reminding himself that he'd survived worse, he'd be okay.

But he didn't really believe that. He'd been prepared to die fighting Medusa, but even then, he hadn't been this scared. Once you died, it was over, but to lose _this…_to see her turn away from him…

All the light in his world would vanish. Everything would collapse.

Keep walking. Don't think. That was the key. If he allowed himself to think about what he was doing, he would crumble.

* * *

><p>Once they arrived at his apartment, Chrona dug the little black book from his dresser drawer and offered it to her, head bowed, arms held out stiffly. He was shaking. Couldn't stop shaking. "H-h-here."<p>

She took the book and ran her fingertips over the red heart stitched onto its cover, and it felt as if she were touching _him, _touching the heart that beat in his chest.

It was beating so hard, he thought it might burst. "C-can you wait until you get home to read it?"

"If you want." Her gaze searched his face. "Chrona?"

For a moment, he didn't reply—just stared down at his square, black shoes. Then he reached out, placing his hands over hers, curling her fingers more firmly around the book. "You should go," he whispered. He raised his head, meeting her gaze. "Thank you. For dancing with me tonight."

"You're welcome." She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then walked out, holding his heart in her hands.

-To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

When Maka arrived home, Soul was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cornflakes, still in his suit, his tie rumpled.

She stood, staring in surprise. "Soul…"

"Hey," he said.

"You left the dance?"

He shrugged. "It was getting boring." He swirled his spoon around in the cereal. It looked soggy, as if it had been sitting awhile. "And Black Star isn't that good a dancer. He nearly crushed my toes." He gave her a half-hearted smile. "What about you?"

It occurred to her that she'd basically ditched Soul. At the time, she'd been so focused on Chrona that she hadn't even thought about it—and it wasn't like she and Soul had been on a date. But still, if their positions had been reversed, she probably would've been annoyed with him, probably would've grumbled something about how unreliable men were. She blushed lightly and shuffled her feet. "Sorry. For leaving so suddenly."

"Don't worry about it. You had something you needed to do, right?" At her puzzled look, he added, "I saw you leave with Chrona."

Her eyes widened. "Oh." She stared down at her feet, realizing how that must have looked to him. "It's just—lately I hardly ever see him, and we just started talking, and—"

"It's okay. I know he's been on your mind lately. Did you get things sorted out?"

"Sort of."

His gaze strayed to the book in her hands, and something shifted in his expression. "What's that?"

Maka glanced at the cover. "Oh…this?" She tried to keep her tone casual, but it didn't quite mask the nervousness beneath. "He gave this to me. He didn't say what it was. Just that it was something he wrote."

"You haven't looked inside yet?"

She shook her head. "He asked me to wait until I was home."

Soul opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"What?"

"Never mind," he said.

"No, tell me."

He stared into his cereal. "You should just read it. It's something important, right?"

Maka hesitated, then nodded. At another time, she might have pushed harder for answers. But she was very conscious of the book's weight in her hands. It felt warm, like something alive—maybe because she'd been holding it so tightly.

Maka walked out of the kitchen, into her bedroom, and closed the door. After changing into her pajamas, she sat on the edge of her bed, holding the book. Her fingertips slid over the leather cover, over the soft red heart. It looked as though he'd stitched it there by hand.

All the answers were in here, she thought. She'd been seeking those answers for so long. Strange, now, that she felt so hesitant to open it. Her heart was beating a little too hard and fast, and her mouth had gone dry.

Chrona's voice echoed in her memory: _If I tell you, it will change things_.

Whatever he'd written, it was something intensely private, something he'd been terrified to show her. Opening this book would be almost like entering his soul again, like stepping into that circle in the sand, breaching a very personal barrier. But this time, Chrona had invited her in. This was _his_ will too…wasn't it?

_It will change things._

Was she ready for this? Was Chrona ready? He'd seemed so reluctant. He'd only relented and given the book to her because she'd begged him for the truth. Maybe she had just forced her own will onto him again. Or maybe she only felt that way because of what Ragnarok had said.

Of course, she didn't have to read this. She could put it away in her drawer. But what then? Would they continue this awkward, delicate, painful dance around the truth?

_Something _had to change. She couldn't go on like this. Neither one of them could.

Her gaze lingered on the red heart. She took a deep breath and opened the book to the first page. It was filled with Chrona's delicate, spidery handwriting.

_Maka,_

_I wish I had the courage to tell you these things, but I don't dare. I'm so clumsy when I speak. My words get tangled up in my throat, and they catch on my tongue so I stutter and trip over every syllable._

_I will probably never give this to you, but I can't keep these feelings locked inside me any longer. It hurts too much. I need to let them out somehow...so I'm writing what's in my heart. Even if you never read this, I'm writing it to you._

Maka's gaze lingered on the last line. Her palms had grown damp with sweat. Slowly, she turned the page.

_Where do I even begin?_

_I have so many things now that I never expected to have. I have friends. I have a place to belong and people who care about me. Every day I feel so grateful to be a part of this world of light._

_But none of it would mean anything if not for you. Those people who are my friends now would still be my enemies if not for you. You were the first, the one who reached out to me through the darkness, the one who made it all possible._

_Somehow, you saw what was inside me. You saw through my empty eyes, through the madness and fear. You found me and led me back into the light. I still remember—will remember until the day I die—the moment when your soul first touched mine, the way you looked at me then…like you were holding me with your eyes, like I already belonged to you. You saw _me_. Not my black blood, not my heritage as a witch's child, not the terrible things I had done. Just me. Chrona. Whatever Chrona is, whatever it is that makes me myself._

_How did you see that, Maka? How did you come through a forest of madness to reach me? How was I worth the risk to you, even back then?_

_You asked me to be your friend. I never thought I would have a friend._

_For so long, I lived in darkness. I despised the world and everything in it. I believed there was only hatred and cruelty, that human beings could only hurt each other, so I sought power. It was the only way I could deal with a reality I hated. But more than anything, I hated myself. I'd come to believe that there was nothing good in me, that I was a mistake, a stain. I was ready for death. Ready to disappear. I thought that was the only thing left for me. My own mother didn't want me anymore, so how could anyone else?  
><em>

_You proved me wrong about everything. You saved my soul._

_How can I possibly find words for what you are? I can say that you're the kindest, bravest, most wonderful person I've ever met, that your hair is the color of wheat in sunlight and your eyes are like the sea on a clear morning, but those words don't even begin to scratch the surface. When I try to describe you I feel like I'm grasping in the dark, because words are never good enough. I can only say what you are to me. And you're my world. My reason. I am alive because of you. Whatever sanity I still have is because of you. If you asked me to die for you, I would do it without hesitation, without doubt._

_Does it sound pathetic, to say it like that? Maybe it is. Maybe I am. But it's a wonderful feeling, to be near someone I would gladly die for…to belong to someone like you. And I _do _belong to you. I'm yours, completely. Even when we're apart, it makes me happy just knowing that you exist, that we're both part of the same world._

_Sometimes I can't contain all these feelings. Sometimes I feel like my heart will burst. But when it becomes too much, the thought of you is there, steadying me._

_I'm a weakling, Maka. You tell me that I'm stronger than I realize, so I try to believe that, but I don't think "strong" is a word I'll ever be able to claim for myself. I've come to believe, just a little, that I have other good qualities inside me. But I'm so broken. My mind has so many cracks in it, so many fragile places, like a glass bowl that's been shattered and glued back together with all the jagged edges still showing. All it takes is for someone to press on one of those cracks and I shatter into a thousand pieces._

_Because I'm weak, I run from anything I don't know how to deal with. I run from my own heart. I run from you._

_Even knowing this book will probably stay hidden in my desk drawer forever, it takes all my courage just to keep writing. My hand is trembling so hard. The thought of you actually reading it makes me feel lightheaded. I want to hide._

_But I can't hide anything from you. Sometimes I think you can read my thoughts, you understand me so well. I wonder, sometimes, if you already know my secret, if you can look into my eyes and see it there, as plain as the words on this page. I can't look at you anymore, because I'm afraid my eyes will tell you everything. Maybe you knew even before I did.  
><em>

_Still, it takes everything in me to write these words._

_I'm in love with you, Maka._

_When I sat down to write that poem for you, I started writing all the feelings I'd been hiding from myself, and it terrified me. I'd had dreams before, but I somehow managed to forget them, to lock them away in my head, because I didn't know what they meant._

_I know now._

_I need the sight of you, the sound of your voice, your scent, your touch, your smile. Just sitting next to you on the park bench and eating ice cream with you felt so right, I felt like I could do that every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. You are everything I could ever need or want._

_I think about you, about your skin against mine, your lips, about waking up next to you, feeling your heartbeat. I think about things I can't even talk about, things that make me feel strange and dizzy. Even now, my heart is beating too fast and the room feels too hot._

_My own body has become a stranger to me. I don't know how to deal with these feelings. But I know they're wrong. You offered me a bond of friendship, a bond of souls, something that was meant to be pure and innocent. I should have been content with that, but my mind twisted this pure love into something filled with want and burning and confusion. I'm depraved. I know I am._

_I'm afraid of so many things. But more than anything, I'm afraid that I'll ruin this—the best thing that ever happened to me. I was afraid—am _still _afraid—that if I tell you about these feelings, it will change things, that you won't be comfortable with me anymore, won't want my friendship anymore. How could you?_

_Because, you see, I know that you don't feel the same way about me. I know that someone like me—a weakling like me—could never be something like that to you. You deserve someone wonderful, someone strong, someone who's not tainted with sin and madness._

_I don't have any right to touch you with these bloodstained hands._

_I know it can't be, but I still ache with the need for you. It hurts so much, Maka, like there's an empty space inside my chest and it's bleeding._

_I know I have no right to say these things to you, even in my mind. You're so kind to me. You've already given me more than I could ever deserve, and wanting more is unfair to you. Even if things were different and you __could __return those feelings, I could never be what you really need. I know all these things, but I can't stop aching.  
><em>

_My Maka, my precious friend, my heart's keeper, what would you think if you were to read this? Would you be shocked? Disgusted? Would you just feel sorry for me? Or…_

_I know. I know it can't be._

_I tried so long to hide this from myself. But I can't. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you._

_There's so little I can give you. But this heart is yours, and it always will be._

Maka stared at that last line, hands trembling. Her heartbeat filled her ears like thunder. Her vision swam, and she closed her eyes, dizzy.

She wondered what she was feeling. She couldn't wrap her head around it. It was too much, too big; the feeling swelled inside her chest, taking up space, making it difficult to breathe.

Chrona…was in love with her.

In retrospect, it was obvious—the way he blushed when she touched him, the way his breathing quickened when she was near, the way he couldn't meet her gaze for more than a second. What else could it have been? Why hadn't she figured it out sooner?

Her eyes opened, and she stared at the last line, at his narrow, slanted writing. In places, the pen had pressed so hard against the paper that it had nearly torn through; in other spots, the lines were blurred, as if drops of water had fallen on the page. She touched those spots lightly with her fingertips.

She thought of the moment when he'd jumped in front of Medusa's arrow, shielding her with his body…and afterward, when he lay in her arms, his warm blood soaking through her clothes, he had smiled up at her, that heartbreakingly sweet smile. She'd never seen him more at peace than in that moment when he lay in her arms, an inch from death, telling her that he was happy—he was _happy._ Because he had helped her. He had looked at her with such love, his eyes filled with the pure, gentle light of his soul.

Chrona was, beneath all his scars and madness and fear, the most selfless and loving person she had ever known. She'd felt that within him when their wavelengths first merged, and she saw it now, day after day. He tried so hard, it hurt.

Yet he had called himself depraved. He believed she would be disgusted with him. He saw himself as unworthy of her. He had absolutely no concept of his own worth.

Had her own heartbeat ever been so loud before?

"Hey…Maka?"

She gave a start and looked up. Soul stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He'd changed out of his suit and into his jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. "Soul…"

His brows knitted together over crimson eyes. "You okay?"

She realized there were tears on her cheeks. Quickly, she wiped the moisture away with the back of one hand. Her mind was still whirling with shock; she wasn't sure she could deal with anyone else's presence right now.

She was about to tell him that she needed a minute alone, but before she could, Soul spoke: "He finally spilled the beans, huh?" His voice was soft, unusually subdued.

Maka's breath caught, and her head jerked up. She stared at him with wide eyes. "You knew?" Her voice emerged weak and unsteady. "How Chrona felt?"

He averted his gaze. "I wasn't sure. Not until you came home holding that."

"How long?" Her own voice seemed to be coming from faraway, as if she'd somehow become disconnected from herself. "How long did you…"

He hesitated. "Awhile."

"You didn't tell me." Her fingers tightened on the book. "Why?"

He shifted his weight. "When I asked you if you were into him, you said no. You said it was a different kind of bond. I didn't know if I should say anything. I mean…it wasn't any of my business, and from the way he acted, it was obvious he didn't _want _you to find out, and I didn't even know if I was right, so I just thought…" He trailed off and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not good at these kinds of conversations. I just...didn't want to make things worse."

Soul had known. Or at least suspected. Somehow, her partner had figured it out when she herself hadn't seen it.

Maybe Ragnarok was right. Maybe she didn't know Chrona at all.

Her hands shook. She knew it was unreasonable to be angry at Soul. She knew his reasons for _not _saying anything to her were perfectly logical. But something like this, something so important…and Chrona had been suffering so much, all this time…

Of course, she knew she had only herself to blame, for being so blind.

"Maka? You, uh…you sure you're okay?"

She tried to speak, but nothing came out. A lump had risen into her throat, cutting off all sound. When at last she found her voice, it emerged small and soft. "I've never…no one's ever…"

"He's really got it bad for you, hasn't he?"

She didn't reply. The answer was obvious, anyway.

"Can I give you some advice?" he said.

She looked up.

"Figure out how you feel," he said. "And do it soon. If you're going to turn him down, it's better to do it quick and clean. The longer you wait, the harder it'll be on both of you."

For a long moment, Maka didn't reply. Did Soul think she was planning to reject Chrona? But then, she'd told him she wasn't in love. She'd been telling herself the same thing all this time. Maka Albarn didn't fall in love. That was the mantra she'd repeated to herself for so long. Maybe she'd seen those words as the only way to escape her parents' unhappy fate. Or maybe she was just afraid of losing control, losing herself. And when she'd found Chrona, he'd been so different from anything she'd ever expected, she hadn't recognized what was happening, even when it stared her in the face.

"I need to think," she whispered.

Soul hesitated a moment longer, his gaze searching her face…then he nodded and backed away, out of the doorway.

Slowly, she closed the book in her lap and stared down at the cover.

_If you asked me to die for you, I would do it without hesitation, without doubt._

_This heart is yours, and it always will be._

When she'd first stretched out her hand to Chrona, she hadn't planned for this, hadn't realized just how far it would go, how it would change everything. And now she held this beautiful boy's wounded heart in her hands.

She didn't deserve such a precious gift, and she knew it. A selfish person like her shouldn't be entrusted with so much power over another's heart. But it was hers, regardless.

The nameless emotion spread outward from her chest, filling her body, aching in every limb, every cell. She felt as if she were standing before an oncoming train about to rip apart everything she thought she understood about herself, every last inhibition and doubt, and she couldn't budge. There was no control. She was falling.

Had she been holding back these feelings all along? Had she been afraid of them, of their power, of what they meant, afraid that if she didn't hold them at bay, they would swallow her whole? Who had she thought to fool—herself?

The feeling burned brighter, blazing like the sun—then coalesced, focused into a single image. Chrona's face, his eyes, his smile.

Maka sat on the bed for a moment later, clutching the book in her trembling hands. Her thoughts were a chaotic whirl. But beneath the fear, beneath the confusion, there was something else, something stronger than either; a sense of wonder, of incredible joy.

Chrona was in love with her.

She hugged the book tight, pressing it to her heart.

Chrona—her gentle, brave, broken Chrona—was in love with her. The feelings were overflowing, as if she were a cup filled with wine and it was spilling over the edges. Her own small soul wasn't enough to contain so much emotion.

Then something changed, something shifted, deep within. She froze.

A shadow crept over her heart. Fear…but not her own. The fear pierced her through like needles of cold. Chrona. Something was wrong.

She didn't bother to change out of her pajamas. She leaped to her feet and began to run, down the hall and through the living room.

"Oi, Maka?"

Maka didn't pause at Soul's surprised call. She ran out of the apartment, down the street, slippers pounding the pavement, breath coming in ragged gasps. Memories flashed through her mind, one after another, coming faster and harder.

Chrona standing and gazing out over Death City, a flush rising into his cheeks as the wind stirred his hair.

Chrona in battle, determined and desperate, so much power in that slender, frail body, his eyes wild as he danced on the edge between sanity and madness.

The way he sometimes tensed and relaxed when she hugged him, melting into her arms, releasing his fear.

The grace of his hands as he drew his sword.

His smile, that rare, genuine smile, so sweet and so young.

His eyes.

His _eyes._

She ran and ran, not daring to slow, not caring that she was attracting stares from people around her—a strange, wild-eyed girl in striped pajamas, running through the streets as if chased by a pack of wolves. She _couldn't _stop. She needed to reach him, to hold him in her arms, to tell him that everything was all right, that she wasn't disgusted, that she loved him more than anything in the world.

"Chrona, wait for me! I'm coming!" she shouted breathlessly, and somehow it didn't seem to matter that he couldn't hear her, that shouting just made her look _more _crazy to passers-by.

She had the strangest sense that he was in danger.

* * *

><p>Chrona couldn't breathe.<p>

He sat on the edge of his bed, clutching his chest, gasping, eyes bulging as the crushing pressure of panic squeezed his lungs.

Why, why, why had he given her that?

Now she would see everything. She would see just how desperately, pathetically dependent he was, how sick and fucked up and broken and obsessive and weird and creepy he was. She'd thought she understood him before, but she hadn't understood, oh no. _Now _she'd see. Now she'd see that he belonged in a straightjacket, that he was a lost cause. He had exposed his twisted innards and she was looking at them right now with a sense of horror slowly creeping through her brain.

She'd try to keep her thoughts kind, no doubt, but surely even _her_ kindness had limits. Look at him. He was sitting here having a panic attack over the thought that she might stop being his friend. That wasn't normal, was it? Needing someone this much wasn't normal. It was wrong, it was proof of everything wrong with him. Maka had never wanted to be put on this pedestal, never asked to be the glue holding his mind together. How could anyone want that?

His breath came in hitching little gulps. He couldn't seem to fill up his lungs all the way. His chest hurt and tears kept leaking from the corners of his eyes. The fear filled his head like a blinding white light, blanking out his thoughts, erasing everything. He couldn't remember what it was like to _not_ be terrified.

He popped off the cap from his pill bottle and dry swallowed another capsule.

Ragnarok burst out of his back. "Whoa, go easy! How many of those have you taken?"

"I don't know," Chrona muttered. He'd lost count somewhere around number five. The pill settled in his stomach, and his vision swam. The room tilted and wavered oddly, as if he were seeing it through several feet of water. But still, his heart wouldn't stop pounding and he was shaking so hard his teeth rattled together. No matter how many sedatives he took, they couldn't blunt the knife's edge of fear digging into him.

"Okay, just listen," Ragnarok said in a _let's be reasonable _tone. "Talking about this kind of shit makes it less scary, right? So what's the worst that could possibly happen? Either she rips it up and throws the pieces in your face, or she thinks it's so hilarious that she decides to read it in front of all her friends, inserting sarcastic comments and gag noises. Or maybe she reads it in front of the entire school over the loudspeakers..."

Chrona moaned, collapsed to the bed, and curled into a fetal position.

"Okay, never mind." Ragnarok sounded almost sheepish. "But hey, if that happens, we'll just get revenge against her somehow. What should we do? Steal her panties? Spraypaint 'Maka is a big fat bitch' on the wall?"

Chrona hid his face against his pillow. He knew the awful things Ragnarok had described wouldn't happen. No, it would be _worse_ than that. He could imagine it all too easily—Maka approaching him, her gaze downcast, a look of quiet, resigned sadness on her face. _Chrona…I'm sorry, but… _Green eyes lifting slowly to his, filled with pity that didn't quite mask the trace of disgust. _I don't think we should be friends anymore._

The invisible bands in his chest tightened.

"Who gives a shit what she thinks, anyway?" Ragnarok said, his voice a little frantic. "Hey, I know, let's go back to the dance. We'll get wasted on that bubbly stuff and eat a bunch of those little hot dogs until we puke."

"I don't want to go anywhere," Chrona muttered. He swallowed another pill.

"Give me those things." Ragnarok reached for the pill bottle, but Chrona pulled his hand away. "Come on! That's enough—"

"You said that she brainwashed me."

Ragnarok froze.

"You said she raped my soul." Chrona's ragged breathing echoed through the room. "Why would you say something like that? Why?"

Silence.

"Answer me, damn it!" His voice emerged cracked and hoarse. It barely sounded like his own.

"Fine, whatever, I take it back! Just put down the damn pills already!" Ragnarok knocked the bottle from Chrona's hand, and it rolled across the sheets, scattering little black pills across the bed.

Chrona stared dully at the amber bottle. More bottles stood on his nightstand, rows of them. So many pills just to keep him halfway sane. Was he even worth the bother? Was a broken down mind worth maintaining? Maybe they should just throw him away and get a new one.

The whole situation started to seem kind of funny, and he started to giggle—high-pitched, manic giggles which shook his shoulders in spasms. He laughed and laughed until he was gasping for breath.

Somewhere beneath it all, in some far off, rational corner of his mind, he recognized that he was having a full-fledged nervous breakdown and that he should do…something. Call Dr. Stein, maybe.

But it was all so _funny. _It was funny to find this funny. There was a crazy person curled up on the bed and giggling to himself while his mind collapsed all around him, pillars crumbling and toppling, ceilings caving in. He was outside himself watching himself watching himself, grinning, grinning, grinning.

Maybe he should run away. Run into the desert, like he'd done before. Go somewhere there were no people. This time, Maka probably wouldn't follow him. But even the thought of leaving his room was too much. He couldn't even run away. Everything was breaking, his fragile little world splintering into glistening shards.

A capsule lay on the sheets, dark and shiny against the white, just a few inches from his face. At the moment, it looked like the sweetest candy. Before Ragnarok could stop him, he grabbed it and swallowed it, and it passed down his throat with a slight flutter. His stomach lurched, and he made a small, choked sound. "I feel sick…" He clamped both hands over his mouth.

"No shit. Even _I'm _starting to feel woozy. You haven't eaten anything tonight, have you?"

"No." He'd been too nervous to eat anything at the dance. Now the pills were dissolving inside him, into his bloodstream, nothing to slow them down. They hit him with dizzying force, blurring his vision, and it still wasn't enough.

Tears rolled down his face. They came thick and fast, and he couldn't stop them. He was drowning. "It's over," he whispered. His fingers clenched on the pillowcase. "She's going to hate me. What do I do, Ragnarok? I can't live if she hates me."

"What makes her so fucking great?" Ragnarok shouted. "Why is she worth all this crap? Because she smiles at you? Because she buys you ice cream? You act as if she's some perfect angel who shits sunbeams and pisses milk of human kindness, but she's just a smart mouthed know-it-all with permanent PMS and a tree-sized stick up her ass! Fuck, even when we lived with Medusa you hardly ever freaked out this hard! Why do you want a girl who makes you feel like _this_? Are you some kinda masochist? Does being miserable get you off or something?"

He didn't understand. Couldn't understand. It hurt so much more now because he had things that _mattered _now. When he'd lived with Medusa, he hadn't cared about anything. He'd lived in darkness, killing and obeying orders like a puppet. Now there was light and the idea of losing that light was too much.

He grabbed another bottle of pills from his nightstand, then another. With shaking hands, he popped them open and shook the pills into his mouth. He wasn't even sure what he was taking. But it didn't matter. He just didn't want to think right now. He wanted to erase his brain, to erase everything.

"Oh no you don't." Ragnarok knocked the bottles from his hands. Pills spilled across the floor, rolled under the bed. "This is fucking ridiculous."

Chrona watched the pills roll. His vision blurred as another wave of dizziness rolled over him. He swayed, flopped onto the bed, and stared blankly into space. His body was suddenly leaden, his limbs numb, his stomach cramping with nausea. If he tried to sit up, he'd probably faint.

"Ragnarok, I don't feel good," he murmured. His head swam. A little whimper escaped his throat. "I c-can't move…"

"Okay, okay, deep breaths, we've been through this drill before. Open up." One tiny, ball-like hand forced its way into his mouth. "You just gotta puke it all up and you'll be fine. Come on." His hand pushed deeper.

Chrona gagged slightly, but nothing came up.

His vision slid back into focus, and he found himself staring at a half-empty pill bottle on his bed. Shiny little drops of night, of oblivion. Those were the strongest sedatives Stein had, the ones Stein had told him to be careful with. He'd warned Chrona not to overdo it, not to take it with alcohol. But they'd had a lot of champagne at the dance, and…

And Chrona had just taken the whole bottle.

He moaned weakly as he realized what he'd done.

When he was younger, he'd tried so many times to kill himself, cutting his wrists over and over, sneaking bottles of pills from the bathroom cabinets. And always Ragnarok had stopped him, hardening his blood vessels, knocking the pills from his hand before he could swallow them or forcing his fingers down Chrona's throat to make him throw up what he'd already swallowed. Chrona had cried and pleaded for death, but his Weapon never relented. After awhile, Chrona just stopped trying.

Back then, Ragnarok had been a lot stronger than him. Now he was tiny, his arms short and weak, his hands too small to reach the back of Chrona's throat and bring up the death-black pills.

It was ironic. So ironic, that this unintentional overdose might be the one that finally did it.

"Sick it up, kid. Come on! I'm not about to let you die in such a lame emo way. _Agh! _Damn these stubby little arms…" His voice had grown weaker, his breathing labored. "What a…stupid death…Chrona…wasn't s'posed to end…like…"

Ragnarok slumped on top of him. His breathing slowed. Chrona felt him beginning to soften and liquefy, melting back into Chrona's body, and his weight was gone.

"Ragnarok?"

No answer.

"Ragnarok, I'm sorry," Chrona murmured. "I didn't mean...for this to happen..." It was getting harder to speak. He wasn't sure if he was even talking aloud or just thinking. A vision of green eyes flashed through his mind.

_Maka._

His heartbeat quickened. If she found him like this, she'd think he'd deliberately taken his own life. She would blame herself. That was the sort of person she was; she took responsibility for all his faults, all his failings. When he'd betrayed Shibusen and run away, she'd faced Shinigami-sama himself and stood up for Chrona. She'd promised him that she wouldn't _let _him betray them again. After all she'd done for him, he couldn't let it end like this, couldn't let her be hurt because of his own stupid fear and carelessness.

He rolled off the bed, onto the floor, and began to crawl toward his desk, toward his mirror. He had to call…had to get help…

His stomach seized in a cramp. His vision blurred and swam. Blackness descended, and he felt its crushing weight on top of him, pushing him down, flattening him like a giant's hand. He was melting into the floor, his cheek pressed against the rough carpet. No matter how he strained, he couldn't move his body, and he felt himself sliding, slipping, falling, his strength running away like water down a drain.

He was scared. Cold. He wished someone was here to hold him. Wished, at least, that Ragnarok was still conscious so he wouldn't be alone. But these might be his last thoughts. He didn't want to spend his final moments thinking about how scared he was.

He thought about her. About her eyes. Her smile.

_Thank you, Maka. Thank you for everything. _He hoped that she could hear his thoughts. Maybe they would travel through the bond they shared, would float across the city and into her heart. _You gave my life meaning. I'm so happy that I knew you. So lucky that we met. I'm just sorry it ended like this. Forgive me…I love you so much…_

As his eyelids sank shut, he thought he felt warm arms around him, holding him close. Thought he heard her voice calling his name.

It couldn't be real, of course. There was no reason she'd be here now. It was an illusion, a product of his foggy, scrambled mind, but he was grateful for it, anyway. Grateful that he could leave this world with even the illusion of her kindness.

Darkness pulled him under.

-To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

"Chrona?" Maka knocked on his apartment door. No answer. She tried again, but still, there was only silence. The hollow space in her stomach grew, and dread trickled through her veins like ice water.

"_Chrona!" _She pounded on the door. "Answer me!"

Still nothing.

She tried the knob. It was unlocked.

Maka stepped inside and looked around, her pulse drumming in her throat. The living room was empty; so was the kitchen. She walked into the bedroom and gasped.

Chrona was curled on the floor, still and pale, his eyes closed. Amber bottles lay all around him, pills scattered across the bed, across the floor. A tiny, frightened sound escaped Maka's throat. Her vision blurred as dizziness crashed down on her.

She couldn't be looking at this. This wasn't happening, not now, not after he'd finally told her the truth. Chrona wasn't dead, this was some kind of mistake, and any moment the image in front of her would change.

It didn't.

She was afraid to touch him, afraid that she'd find him cold, that it was too late. Her legs were frozen, feet rooted to the floor. Her breathing came in frantic little gulps.

But she couldn't afford to hesitate. If he was alive, he might have only minutes left. She took a deep, shaky breath and forced her legs to move, forced herself to walk across the room, to crouch by his side. She gripped his hand.

It was warm. Thank God. It was warm.

"Chrona, can you hear me?"

No response.

Maka took another deep breath, trying to clear the panic from her head. _Think._ She lowered her head and pressed her ear to his chest, and she felt it; a heartbeat, slow and weak but undeniably _there_. Her eyes closed as a wave of pure relief and gratitude rushed through her.

Should she bring him to the infirmary? No, she wasn't strong enough to carry him. She needed to call someone.

Maka leaped to her feet, grabbed the mirror from his desk, breathed on the surface, and traced in a number with trembling fingers. Dr. Stein's face appeared a moment later. "Maka, what—"

"You need to come to Chrona's apartment right now." Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the mirror.

"Calm down. What's going on?"

"He overdosed."

Stein's eyes widened.

"There are pills everywhere," she said. "He's unconscious. His heart is beating, but it's weak. I—I don't know what to do. What should I do?"

The surprise faded from Stein's expression, leaving only a grim determination. "Just stay with him. Keep monitoring his heart-rate and breathing. Help him breathe, if necessary. I'll be right over." The image winked out.

Maka crouched beside Chrona's motionless form and stared down at his face—so slack, so pale. _Help him breathe._ CPR was part of basic training for all Shibusen students, but she'd never actually had to do it before. Was he breathing? She couldn't tell.

She leaned down and hesitated, her face hovering just an inch over his. Then she sealed her lips over his and breathed into him.

She didn't know if it was helping, but she had to do something. She pulled back to take another breathe and exhaled it into his mouth. His lips were soft but colder than they should have been, and they remained still and slack beneath hers.

It seemed wrong that _this _was the first time their lips had touched. But she kept breathing into him, gripping his shoulders as she forced her air, her life, into his lungs.

_Live. Please live._

* * *

><p>Chrona drifted through gray and murky waters. Dimly, on the edge of his consciousness, he heard voices talking. There was a deep, steady, calm voice. That was Stein. There was another voice…higher, younger, trembling. <em>Her.<em> She sounded upset. Why was she upset? He had to go to her, had to make it better somehow.

He tried to move toward the voices, but something pulled at him, and he was sinking, spiraling down, back into darkness.

* * *

><p>Chrona lay in an infirmary bed, sheets pulled up to his chest. Stein had already given him an injection to counteract the drug's effects and checked all of his vital signs repeatedly to ensure they were steady. He peeled back an eyelid, but saw only bloodshot white; Chrona was out cold, and probably would be for awhile.<p>

He glanced at Maka, who sat in a chair by Chrona's bedside. Her green eyes were tired and red-rimmed, her blonde hair matted and disheveled, and she was wore a set of rumpled pajamas. He gave her a reassuring smile. "His life isn't in danger. He just needs to sleep it off."

Her rigid posture relaxed, but her eyes were still dark with pain. "Do you think…w-was he…"

"I don't think the overdose was intentional. Given his history, I can't rule out the possibility, but after everything he went through to prove his loyalty to Shibusen—to make this place his home—I don't believe he'd throw it all away."

"Then why?" Maka whispered. "Why would he…"

"I suspect he panicked and over-medicated himself in an attempt to get some relief." He sighed. "I shouldn't have given him such strong sedatives in the first place. I'll be more careful in the future."

She bit her lower lip. "You're sure he'll be okay?"

Stein nodded, looking down at the pale, motionless form on the bed. "It's a good thing you found him when you did." He studied her distant expression. "Do you have any idea what triggered this? Did something happen?"

Maka's breath caught, and her shoulders tensed. "H-he…" She knuckled tears from the corner of her eye. "He gave me something. A little book. S-something he wrote."

Stein's gaze sharpened. "What was it about?"

She hesitated. "About me," she whispered. "How he felt about me."

"I see."

"But I don't understand…why he would…" She trailed off and hunched over, head bowed, hair falling in her face, misery etched into every line of her posture.

Stein lay a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up, tears in her eyes. "You can ask him yourself when he wakes up," Stein said. "In the meantime, maybe you should go home and get some rest."

Maka shook her head. Her hands curled into fists in her lap. "I'm staying here."

Stein simply nodded. "I'll be back to check on him later." He left the room.

Maka sat, watching Chrona sleep.

Her mind drifted back to the dance, to the conversation on the balcony. She kept thinking about what Ragnarok had said. She couldn't get it out of her head.

_You think he could've said no after you messed him up like that?_

_You think you can just break into someone's soul and start stomping on shit and changing whatever you want?_

She thought about the little black book. About everything inside.

_This heart is yours, and it always will be._

Maka wanted to believe that these sort of feelings had to be real and natural. That love—a bond of souls—couldn't be forced on someone.

If she'd never erased that line in the sand, never brought him here, if Chrona had come to Shibusen in some other way, what then? Would he have developed these same feelings for her? Or had he fallen in love because of the connection she'd forged in that moment?

Had he given his heart, or had she taken it?

Even unconscious, he looked exhausted. The lines of fatigue around his eyes, the gray shadows under them, never quite went away. She gazed at that sleeping face, the strands of messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Gently, she brushed them away, tucking them behind his ears.

So many questions. She didn't know the answers. But she knew one thing beyond a doubt: she loved him—deeply, completely, without condition—and he loved her. There was no going back, no retracing their footsteps. Their souls were linked; they were twined into each other's psyches, bound by a love so powerful that it scared her. If she withdrew from him out of guilt and self-doubt, it would only hurt them both. After all this, she didn't intend to leave him.

Not ever.

Her fingertips lingered on his smooth cheek. She traced the curve of his jaw line, watched the slight movement of his eyes beneath pale, thin eyelids and wondered if he was dreaming.

She heard a knock at the door and looked up. The door opened a crack, and one red eye peered in. Soul. "Hey," he said quietly. "Can I come in?"

Maka nodded.

The door creaked open and Soul entered. His face was drawn and pale. She wasn't used to seeing him with such a solemn expression. "I had a bad feeling. I called Chrona's mirror, but no one answered, so I tried Dr. Stein's. He told me what happened." His gaze strayed to the pale, motionless form on the bed. "How is he?"

"Stein says he's out of danger." She noticed Soul was holding a duffel bag in one hand and a white paper takeout bag in the other. The smell of chicken soup filled the air. She blinked. "What's that?"

He set the duffel bag on the floor next to her chair. "An extra set of clothes." He shrugged. "Figured you might be here awhile. And since infirmary food sucks…" He held out the white takeout bag. "It's from that diner down the street."

She stared, surprised. "Thank you." Maybe it was just because of the emotional roller coaster she'd gone through in the past few hours, but suddenly, she felt close to tears. Soul was such a good friend and partner. Having a big brother would be like this, or so she'd always imagined. "You didn't have to do this."

"It's no big deal."

Maka stared at Chrona's face. If she'd just gotten there a little sooner…if she hadn't hesitated, hadn't been so confused, hadn't been so afraid of her own feelings… "This is my fault," she whispered.

"No," Soul said. "If anything, it's mine."

She looked at him in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"I kept telling you to let him be. To give him his space." He stared at the floor. "Seemed like it was hurting you, worrying about him all the time. And it was hurting him, being close to you. Seemed like more space was what you both needed. I thought I was being logical. If I'd just kept my mouth shut..."

"That's not why he did this." Maka closed her eyes. She was so tired. She just wanted everything to be okay again, wanted Chrona to open his eyes, wanted to hear his soft, sweet voice saying her name. "It's no one's fault."

"What happens when he wakes up?" Soul asked.

"I tell him," she said.

"Tell him what?"

"How I feel."

His eyes widened, and his mouth opened in surprise. "How you…"

She nodded. "I'm in love with him, Soul." She knew beyond a doubt that it was true, but admitting it—hearing herself speak those words—made it feel more real somehow.

There could be no more hiding, now.

"You're sure?" Soul asked quietly.

"I'm sure." She gave him a weak smile. "It just took me a long time to figure it out. I don't know how I can do so well on tests and be such an idiot about my own feelings." A lump rose into her throat, and she blinked back tears. She hated crying. It made her feel so weak, so useless. "I can't stand sitting here and not being able to tell him how I feel."

"He'll wake up. Dr. Stein said so, right?" He lay a hand on her shoulder. "Everything's gonna be okay."

She hoped he was right.

* * *

><p>Soul stayed until his eyelids started drooping and Maka ordered him to go back to the apartment and get some sleep. Night ended, and morning sunlight crept in through the window, spreading across the floor.<p>

Stein entered the room and glanced at Chrona. "Still no change?"

Maka shook her head.

Stein held a stethoscope to Chrona's chest. "His heartbeat's stronger."

"Can I listen?"

Stein raised his eyebrows.

She fidgeted, self-conscious. "I know it sounds weird. But…"

"I understand." He handed her the stethoscope.

Maka inserted the ends into her ears and placed the metal against Chrona's chest. His heartbeat filled her ears, and she closed her eyes. _Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum._ The beat was soothing. Steady and strong, proof that Chrona was all right, that his soul was still inside that silent, limp body.

_Come back to me, Chrona, _she begged silently. _I need you.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Chrona is alone in the dark, curled up on the floor. He is five years old again, trapped in that lightless little room, his stomach empty and aching with hunger, his throat swollen with thirst.<em>

_Something is wrong, though. Usually, Ragnarok would be punching and cursing him by now.  
><em>

_"Ragnarok?" he calls softly. No response. His breathing quickens, echoing harshly through the silence. It seems very loud. "Ragnarok, where are you?"_

_No answer. He is truly alone._

__What is this? Is he dreaming? Is he dead?__

"_Maka? Soul? Kid, Black Star, Liz, Patty, Tsubaki? Is anyone there? Dr. Stein? Marie-sensei? Someone, anyone, _answer me!" _He is screaming now, and still, there's only silence. No one to answer his cries, no one to open the door. And he knows suddenly that this is it. No one can find him here; this is the end, the ultimate fate, the true hell, this darkness and solitude._

Isn't this what you wanted? _a voice in his mind whispers; his own voice. _To be alone, without any people around? Isn't this where you feel most relaxed? No one will ever bother you now. No one will ask anything of you. You don't have to face anything you can't deal with. It's just you, all alone, forever.

_No, no, no! This isn't what he wants!_

But it is. You were always hiding from them. From her. Now she'll never find you again.

_Panting, he crawls through the darkness. He stretches out his fingers, searching for a wall, a door, anything. But there is nothing. Even the floor suddenly seems insubstantial beneath him. He can't feel his body, his skin; the sound of his breathing fades into silence. He tries to scream, but he has no voice._

_It's not even hell. It's nothingness, a cold empty void, a dark space inside himself, sealed off and buried. Even if they searched for him for a thousand years, they would never find him here. He will be forgotten, his existence erased, as if he never lived at all. And it will be like this forever and ever, each second stretching into an eternity, with no relief, no solace, just the cold voice of his own thoughts. Solitude is, he realizes, the very essence of madness—a total absence of light, like a silent scream that goes on and on._

_It is abandonment, utter and complete._

I don't want this! Please, give me my world back! Give me sunlight and air and blue skies! Give me myself again, give me my friends! Give me Maka! Let me eat ice cream with her again! Let me hold her again, please!

_And then—suddenly—there are hands on his face, stroking him, caressing him. A voice says his name._

"Chrona."

_He's afraid to hope, afraid that this too will be snatched away. But it's her. He knows it's her. He would recognize that voice anywhere._

* * *

><p>Chrona floated up through layers of fog and darkness. His eyelids felt like stone, but somehow, through the most monumental effort imaginable, he lifted them. A blur greeted his sleepy eyes. He couldn't focus, but he could see a pale oval and two spots of green. Slowly, his vision cleared and the image focused into a face he recognized. A face he loved.<p>

He lay, frozen, holding his breath, afraid to believe in this. What had happened? Where was he?

There was an instant of blinding terror as he remembered the book…then he saw the warmth in her eyes, the compassion, and the terror melted into an overwhelming _relief_ that she wasn't angry or disgusted with him.

"Chrona, can you hear me?"

When he finally found his voice, it was weak and faint, almost inaudible. "Maka…"

She smiled. Tears welled in her eyes, shining in the sunlight. There was _sunlight._ "Good morning." She cradled his face between her hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Her hands were bare, and his skin tingled under the warmth of her slender fingers. For a moment she just looked into his eyes.

Warmth. Touch. Maka looking at him, seeing him, acknowledging him. He wasn't alone, wasn't forsaken.

But he had showed her the book. Or had that, too, been a dream? He didn't know what was real. His memories were a fuzzy jumble.

He gulped. "Maka…I…"

Slowly, she leaned down.

Before he could say anything more, her lips were on his. Chrona lay motionless, frozen with shock.

Maka was kissing him. Maka was…was…

His brain fizzled out. He couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but lie there, feeling her warm, soft lips against his. His own tense lips slowly relaxed, parting beneath the gentle pressure, and his eyes slipped shut.

The world faded away as a warm haze enveloped his mind. It was a little like being drunk, but so much nicer. His body felt weightless. He could have sworn he was levitating off the bed.

Maka's lips left his, and Chrona's eyes opened. Her eyes were so close to his, he couldn't focus on them, and all he could see was an ocean of green. The tips of their noses almost touched. She lingered there for a moment, letting her breath mingle with his…then she pulled back, and her face slid into focus. She was looking at him with tenderness—holding him with her eyes.

He wondered if he was dreaming—but no, it was too vivid. He could see every loose wisp of hair hanging around her face, catching the sunlight.

Then he remembered the pills, the world fading to darkness. A chill rippled through him. Was he…?

If that was the case, then this wasn't really Maka. At that thought, he felt a twinge of sadness beneath the dreamy haze. But of course, if it were really Maka she wouldn't have _kissed _him.

The tip of his tongue crept out to moisten his lower lip. He could still taste a hint of her there. "Am I dead?" he asked in a small, uncertain voice.

Her mouth opened in surprise. "What?"

"I-is this heaven?" His tone wavered. "D-does this mean…have I been forgiven?" It seemed like almost too much to hope for…that after all the bad things he did, he could still have this.

Her eyes widened slightly—then softened. There was a hint of sadness in her expression, and a knot inside him tightened. But the sadness quickly faded. She smiled a gentle, reassuring smile, shook her head, and smoothed his hair back from his brow. "You're in Shibusen's infirmary. You were unconscious all night, but you're fine now."

His eyes grew wider still. He looked around, and sure enough, it was the infirmary; the same room he'd woken up in after his catatonic episode. "Th-then this is…you're really…"

"It's me," she said softly.

His eyes were as wide as they could go. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. "Y-you…you k-k-ki-ki…" He couldn't say the word. He scarcely dared to believe it had happened. His lips were still tingling; if not for that, he would've been tempted to dismiss it as a hallucination produced by his drug-clouded mind. "Y-y-you…"

Maka simply nodded and said, "I kissed you."

He felt as if someone had kicked his brain straight into the air and it hadn't come down yet. "Why?" he heard himself whisper.

Her expression was so gentle, so earnest. "Because I'm in love with you, Chrona."

His vision started to blur. Only when something warm rolled down his cheek did he realize he was crying. "This…this is really happening? You're really…" A sudden thought made his heart lurch.

After that overdose, she probably believed he'd tried to kill himself. Was she doing this because she felt sorry for him? Because she was afraid that if she rejected him, he would try again?

The warmth evaporated from his chest. Suddenly, he felt cold, sick to his stomach. It was just pity. She was hiding her real feelings, showing him a smile in order to protect him from himself, because she was too kind to do otherwise. "Please don't pretend," he blurted out. "P-please…you don't have to say things like that. I know you don't really…i-it's okay, I won't…"

She touched a finger to his lips, gently silencing him. His eyelids fluttered in surprise. "You're such an idiot," she whispered, smiling through her tears. "You think I would fake something like this?"

"Y-you…you're not?"

Instead of answering, she leaned down and kissed him again. The kiss was soft, very gentle, but he felt it down to the tips of his toes.

A tiny sound, almost a whimper, slipped past his lips.

His heart raced. The room grew blurry and bright, everything glowing like the sun, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed. She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and with each kiss, colors burst in the darkness behind his lids like fireworks, green and pink and blue.

He didn't quite know why that was happening. Maybe he was stoned from all the sedatives still coursing through his system. Or maybe it was just her.

When she kissed his left eyelid, it was like a brilliant flash going off in his head, and he gasped softly, fingers tightening on the sheets. Her lips touched his right eyelid—another flash of light—then his left again. His eyelids tingled. The rest of the world had disappeared, there was just him and Maka, like they were floating in outer space, two ships sailing through the cosmos, past sprays of purple stars and spiral galaxies with long curling octopus arms…

Okay, he was definitely stoned.

More kisses rained down on his cheeks and throat. Ripples of heat spread outward from each place her lips touched, filling his whole body. His breathing came in small, sharp gasps.

He was drowning in kisses. It was too much and at the same time, it wasn't enough. Her scent enveloped him, wrapped around him; warmth and sunlight and earth and ocean, green growing things and something spicy-sweet and heady which was purely Maka. He heard sounds—soft, needy, hungry little sounds, like a small animal begging for food—and realized they were coming from his own throat…then her mouth was on his once more, feeding him with her kisses.

Even through the fog of drugs, it was clear she didn't have much more experience with kissing than he did. It was clumsy, and their teeth clanked together as she pushed a little too hard, but it was _Maka_ and she was kissing him and the mere thought that it was _happening _made his head reel. His trembling hands lifted slowly to slide into her hair, and he wound one silky tendril around his finger as he shyly moved his own lips against Maka's.

They were so _soft._ They tasted faintly of the strawberry-flavored chapstick she used, but mostly it was just her. The very tip of her tongue touched his parted lips, so quick he couldn't be sure he felt it. A moment later she pulled back, cheeks flushed.

He gulped, staring up at her through dazed eyes.

"Do you believe now?" she asked quietly.

He wondered…if he said no, would she keep doing that? But he couldn't find his voice at all. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was a squeak.

God, he was pathetic. The girl he adored more than anything had just confessed her love to him, and all he could do was lie here in a cross-eyed stupor, making sounds like a traumatized mouse.

When he finally found his voice, all that came out was, "I'm sorry," and he didn't even know what he was apologizing for.

Amazingly, she smiled, her eyes soft and warm. But then, that was Maka; everything he found shameful and weak about himself, she seemed to find endearing. "You don't have to be sorry." She stroked his cheek with her fingertips. "Just don't ever scare me like that again, okay? I don't know what I'd do without you." A tear slipped down her face.

His eyes widened. "Maka…" He reached up to cup her cheek with one hand, and his thumb brushed away the tear as it fell. The gesture was so natural, he didn't even think about it, didn't have time to lose his courage.

She lay a hand over his, turned her face, and kissed his palm. The touch sent a tiny jolt down the nerves of his arm.

Chrona swallowed. He wanted to ask, but he was afraid to. His pulse quickened. Finally, he pushed himself to speak the words, "Y-you…you read it?"

"Yes," she replied. "It was beautiful."

If this was a dream, he decided, he wanted to stay asleep as long as possible. "I thought you would hate me."

"Why would I hate you?"

"Because…I wrote all those things, and…I-I'm j-j-just…"

"You have no idea, do you?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You don't see yourself." She brushed a few strands of hair from his face. "I wish I could let you look at yourself through my eyes. You'd understand, then." She rubbed her cheek against his hand. Her skin felt so smooth, so warm, like living velvet. "Will you forgive me?"

She was asking _his_ forgiveness? His jaw dropped. It took him a moment to find his voice. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did," she said firmly. "You've been suffering because I couldn't figure out what I really wanted. But I know now. I'm done with hiding."

He still didn't understand. Chrona was the one who had been hiding, not her. But he didn't want to contradict her, didn't want to say anything that might shatter this moment. He was so happy, it terrified him. He didn't know how to deal with being so happy, and he found himself wondering if it was possible to die from joy, if his nervous system—so accustomed to sadness and fear—would simply short-circuit from this sudden influx of euphoria.

"Move over," she said.

"Maka?" Her name escaped his throat as a small, breathless whisper.

"I want to hold you."

His breath caught, and he nodded. He scooted over to the left side of the bed, and Maka slid in next to him. She wrapped her arms around him and tugged him closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. Chrona hesitated, then slowly, slowly slid his arms around Maka's waist.

The dreamy haze had started to fade. His heart was beating too hard, a little too fast, and he was shaking. But she kept stroking his hair, gentle fingers running over his scalp, and slowly, he relaxed against her.

He didn't know what came next, where they would go from here. But right now, he didn't care. He just wanted to stay here, in this moment, holding her, his heart full and aching with love.

* * *

><p>For a long time, Maka didn't move or speak. It was enough just lying here with Chrona, feeling his heartbeat against hers, savoring his warmth and the fact that he was here, now, alive and safe.<p>

Walking into that bedroom and seeing him pale and motionless on the floor, bottles of pills scattered around him, had been the most terrifying moment of her life. If Chrona had died…

She didn't want to think about it. A life without Chrona was inconceivable.

What would it have been like, she wondered, if she'd never known him at all? If she and Soul had never fought him, if she'd never touched his soul, if none of it had ever happened?

Maybe on the surface, her life wouldn't be that different—she'd still be a Meister, still be fighting for Shibusen, she'd still have Soul and all her other friends. But there wouldbe something missing. Even if she never knew what, even if she couldn't pinpoint what she lacked, there would be an ache deep in her being, an emptiness, a yearning for something she'd never known—for pale, gray-blue eyes, gentle and innocent and filled with pain and darkness. For this boy. This soul.

She snuggled against him. A part of her wanted to kiss him again, to revel in this newfound feeling, but they were both still so raw and exhausted, and Chrona was probably overwhelmed as it was. So she just held him.

Gradually she realized that something had changed, that Chrona was tense against her, that his breathing had changed, grown heavy and unsteady. "Chrona?"

He lowered his head, hair falling across his eyes. Gulping, he started to pull back, but she tightened her hold. "Chrona, what's wrong?"

Then she felt it—something hard pressing against her hip—and heat flooded her face.

Well, he was definitely a boy.

He gulped again, cheeks flushed as pink as his hair. His breathing quickened, inching toward hyperventilation. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "H-holding you, I...I just...I d-don't know how to make it stop." He trembled against her. He seemed so mortified. Worse than that, he seemed like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

But she didn't want to let go of him; she was worried he would take it as a sign of disgust, and she _wasn't _disgusted, it was just…awkward. She didn't know how to handle something like this.

She inched her hips away from his, so their lower bodies weren't quite touching. But her arms remained wrapped around him. Maka ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "It's okay," she whispered.

His shaky breathing echoed in her ear. "You…you don't mind?"

"I don't mind." She rubbed the back of his neck in small circles and rested her chin on his shoulder.

Slowly—very slowly—he relaxed.

The door creaked open, and Chrona gave a start. Maka looked up to see Stein standing in the doorway, one hand on the knob, and suddenly her blush was back in full force. She was lying in bed next to Chrona, cuddling with him under the sheets. God only knew what Stein was thinking right now.

He closed the door and cranked his bolt. "Glad to see you awake, Chrona. How are you feeling?"

"F-fine," Chrona murmured. He remained under the sheets, face red and half-hidden against the pillow. "I'm sorry for causing trouble. It was an accident. I won't let it happen again."

"I understand." Stein approached the bedside. He glanced at Maka. "I take it you two have sorted things out?"

They nodded.

A slight smile curved Stein's lips. "I'm glad."

He looked Chrona over briefly and said, "You should be fine, but I'd like to keep you in the infirmary today for observation, just to be on the safe side. Is that all right with you?"

Chrona nodded. "Dr. Stein…c-can you not tell anyone else about what I did? If they ask, can you just tell them I was sick with a stomach flu, or something?"

"If you wish. But you know, no one will judge you for this."

"I know." His gaze shifted away. "But I don't want to worry anyone."

"Very well. I'll let you rest, then. Maka?"

"I'll stay with him."

* * *

><p>Afternoon darkened into evening. Moonlight crept in through the window and across the floor as Maka lay by Chrona's side, one arm around his waist. He'd dozed off, and his soft breathing echoed through the room.<p>

Ragnarok abruptly burst from his back…then flopped down and lay motionless, draped over him like a blanket. Chrona remained asleep. "Ugh…fucking drugs," Ragnarok muttered. "Feels like someone took a crap inside my head." His X-shaped pupils swiveled toward Maka, and he fell silent.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"How long are you planning to stick around, anyway?" Ragnarok asked.

Somehow, the question seemed to be about more than just how long she'd be staying with Chrona in the infirmary. "I'm in love with your Meister. I'm not going anywhere. You'd better get used to me."

He kept staring. She wished he had more human features. It was impossible to read those ping-pong ball eyes. "That so?"

"Yes." Maka wondered what else to say to him. Again, she found herself thinking back to the argument between them, and unease stirred in her bones…but in a strange way, she was glad it had happened. In the turmoil, all the feelings she and Chrona had been hiding from each other had finally bubbled to the surface. "Thank you," she said.

_That _provoked an expression. He looked utterly flabbergasted. "For what?"

"For what you told me earlier, at the dance. It was hard to hear, and…I think you're wrong about me and Chrona. Maybe he didn't have much choice in the beginning, but I didn't brainwash him. He's here now with me because he wants to be. Still, you made me think about some important things." She gave him a tiny smile. "So, thank you."

For a moment, he said nothing, just looked at her blankly. "You're weird!" he finally blurted out. "I insult you, and you _thank _me? What the hell! What'll you do if I call you a fugly PMS-ing man-hating bitch? Bake me a cake?"

The corner of her eye twitched, but she held her smile in place through sheer willpower. "I know you don't like me. To be honest, I'm not crazy about you either. But we're going to be around each other a lot in the future, so it would be better to get along, don't you think?" She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake Chrona.

"Ha! Like we're suddenly gonna be best buddies just because you want to get under Chrona's robe? I'll put up with you because I've got no choice, but we're not friends, got it?"

"Fine." She supposed that was the closest thing to a peace agreement she could hope for.

"Don't try anything funny while he's asleep. I'll be watching." He vanished into Chrona's body before she could respond.

Maka sighed. Apparently, Chrona came with a built-in chaperone. It occurred to her that having Ragnarok around might make certain things difficult down the line—could she ever _really _have a private moment with Chrona, with the loudmouthed little Weapon always popping out?

Still, she wasn't about to let anything come between them now. She'd figure something out.

Maka snuggled against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her mind drifted, and she started to doze off, lulled by the steady rhythm of Chrona's heartbeat.

_Screeek._ Maka tensed, snapping awake. The sound came from outside the room, in the hall—a sound like metal scraping against something hard.

Maka lay still, holding her breath, eyes wide as she listened. Footsteps. But they sounded…wrong, somehow. Heavy and slow.

_Screeek. _There it was again. Like someone dragging knives along the wall.

Slowly, she sat up, heart pounding. Chrona had slept through the whole conversation with Ragnarok, but now, he stirred beside her. "Maka?" he murmured sleepily.

"I hear something," she whispered.

Chrona was silent a moment, his brow furrowed. "I hear it too."

_Screeek. _Closer, now.

Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it was Stein coming to check up on them, maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for that sound. But she didn't really believe that. Her heart had climbed into her throat, and she tried to swallow it, but it refused to go down.

Maka took a deep breath and tapped into that other sight. She reached out with her inner senses, reached down the hall—and her blood turned icy. "I sense a soul," she whispered. "But it's…tainted."

"A kishin egg?"

"Yes." A shiver rippled down her spine. Maka started to slide out of bed, but Chrona grabbed her wrist.

She blinked at him in surprise. "Chrona—"

He wasn't looking at her at all. He was staring at the door, his face pale and grim. "I'll go first."

She wanted to protest. Her first instinct was always to protect him. But Chrona had a Weapon and she didn't; it made sense for him to go ahead of her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

Chrona rose to his feet and held out a hand. His sword materialized, and his fingers closed around the hilt. He walked slowly toward the door, and Maka followed, pulse galloping. Chrona placed a hand on the door and slowly pushed. The hinges creaked faintly…

Then something rammed against the door with a thud, and it burst open. Maka and Chrona stumbled backward as a huge, hunched shape shambled into the room, eyes glowing red. Its face split open in a smile, showing rows of gleaming silver teeth. Long, knifelike claws clicked together and scraped against the door.

Maka let out a strangled gasp.

Saliva dripped from the creature's mouth—and _creature _was the right word, because the kishin egg no longer looked remotely human. Its body was a bloated patchwork monstrosity of metal and flesh, spines bristling from its shoulders and back. She could see its soul glowing within, blood-red and pulsing.

"Stay back," Chrona said. His voice was surprisingly steady.

The kishin egg chuckled, crimson gaze fixed on Chrona. "Relax." Its voice was gravel, deep and rough. "Didn't come here to kill _you_. Boss wants you alive." The creature cocked its head. Its head turned toward Maka, and its grin widened. "Boss didn't say anything about a girl, though." The creature licked its lips. "She looks tasty."

Chrona stood gripping his sword, shoulders tense. "I won't let you touch her," he said. His voice was colder than Maka had ever heard it.

"Oh really?" The kishin egg chuckled again. "Know what they called me, when I was human?" He raised his claws, flexing them. "Freddy the Axe."

Maka drew in her breath sharply.

"Heard of me?"

Maka remembered the newspaper headlines, the victims' crying families on TV. She glared at that leering face. "You raped and killed all those girls."

He licked his lips. "Girls' souls are always the tastiest."

Chrona raised his sword. His mouth opened, and a piercing screech sliced through the air. Ragnarok screamed too, the twin shrieks rising and swirling together, feeding off of each other. Maka clamped her hands over her ears as the sound vibrated in her bones.

Freddy roared and lunched through the door, dagger-claws scraping at the frame. Chrona swung Ragnarok, but the kishin egg parried the blade with its claws. He swung again and again, but Freddy kept advancing, batting the sword away like a toy.

Chrona leaped back, landing in a crouch. He sliced his arm, and black blood burst forth. _"Bloody Needle!_" Spikes shot out, impaling Freddy through the chest and shoulders, but he kept coming, drooling and laughing, tongue lolling out.

Maka stood, back pressed against the wall, cursing her own helplessness. If only Soul were still here, she could fight alongside Chrona—but if she tried to fight Weaponless, she'd just get in the way. She gritted her teeth. Damn it! If only she could shoot soul wavelengths like Stein or Black Star—

Chrona swung his sword. "Screech Alpha!"

A black cloud burst forth, ripping a path through the floor. Freddy jumped to one side and crashed against the wall. The cloud ripped off his arm, and he roared, blood spurting from the stump…but he kept coming, drooling and panting, gaze fixed on Maka. She stood frozen, back pressed against the wall…

"_Don't touch her!" _Chrona screamed. His eyes were wild, his teeth bared in a grimace of terror and madness. Still screaming, he lunged forward and swung Ragnarok.

The blade struck Freddy's neck. Blood burst into the air, and Freddy's head flew across the room, mouth gaping. The head struck the wall next to Maka with a meaty thud and slid down, leaving a trail of blood.

Freddy's body stood motionless for a moment…then collapsed. The red orb of his soul floated in midair, bobbing up and down.

Chrona stood panting, covered in blood.

Ragnarok's long tongue shot out and slurped up the soul. He swallowed it and burped. "Yum."

Maka took a small, cautious step forward. "Chrona?"

He turned toward her, shaking, teeth still bared in a half-grin, half-grimace. His eyes were huge, whites showing all around, pupils constricted to tiny points. She could feel the madness close to the surface, ready to bubble over. Blood dripped down his face and stained his hair. He giggled under his breath—a tiny, breathless burst of sound which shook his shoulders in spasms.

Maka held out her arms to him. "It's okay, Chrona. It's over."

He blinked. As she watched, his expression softened, the madness melting away like snow in the sun. The sword evaporated from his hand, vanishing back into his body, as he walked toward her. He fell into her open arms, and she hugged him tight. He felt so fragile in her arms, just skin and brittle bones; it seemed he would break if she squeezed him too hard. It was easy to forget just how powerful he was. "It's over," she whispered again. "Relax. I have you."

His heart thumped against hers as he hid his face against her neck. "He wanted to hurt you."

"But he didn't. You killed him. He can't hurt anyone now."

"I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you." His voice sounded strangely detached, dreamlike, as if he were in a trance.

Maka hugged him tighter. "I know." She rubbed his back in slow, gentle circles.

They held each other for several minutes, saying nothing, just taking comfort from each other's presence.

At last, Chrona drew in a shaky breath. "He was after me. H-he said…that the boss wants me alive. Who is the boss?"

"I don't know." Maka pulled back and looked up into Chrona's eyes. "We need to tell someone about this."

They found the nearest mirror—which happened to be in the bathroom—and quickly traced in Shinigami-sama's number. Still numb with shock, Maka reported the incident, describing everything in as much detail as she could recall, while Chrona—still spattered with blood—hid behind her, peeking over her shoulder.

"Freddy the Axe," mused Shinigami-sama. "He's been on our wanted list for awhile." He leaned to one side. "Chrona? No need to be shy. You did well in taking him down."

"Th-thank you, sir."

"What I don't understand," Maka said, "is how easily he got into the infirmary. I'd think Dr. Stein would have sensed him and stopped him before he reached us."

"That's my fault, I'm afraid. Just a short while ago, I sent Dr. Stein on an emergency mission, along with Spirit and a few others. The witch who's been skulking around Death City dropped her Soul Protect, so I thought we should take this opportunity to track her down."

A chill wriggled down Maka's spine. "You think this attack was connected? Freddy mentioned someone named 'Boss.' He might be working for the witch. She might have dropped her Soul Protect to lure your strongest fighters out into the desert so Freddy could attack."

"It's possible."

"What I don't understand is, why is she after Chrona?"

"A good question." He stared at them through the unrevealing eyeholes of his mask. "Of course, we can't assume the witch is behind this. It could be a coincidence."

"If not her, who could it be?"

He tilted his head. "Who knows?"

"You know something, don't you?" She leaned forward, planting her hands on the bathroom counter. "What is it?"

"It's nothing definite, just a suspicion. In any case, you two are exhausted. You've been through a lot. Why don't you go home, rest, and—"

"Tell us," she said. Remembering who she was speaking to, she added, "Please."

He scrutinized them for a long moment. Maka felt the weight of that ancient gaze on her, like pressure against her skin.

Chrona stood, shoulders hunched in an awkward effort to hide his tall body behind hers. Now, at last, he straightened and said softly, "Shinigami-sama? W-will you...will you please tell us?"

Shinigami-sama sighed. "We tried to keep the incident with Black Star quiet, but word got out that you were the one who injured him. There was quite an outcry from the citizens of Death City…particularly the parents of Shibusen's students, who seem to think your mere presence makes the school a dangerous place. You aren't well-liked right now."

Chrona drew in his breath sharply. "Th-then…"

"I don't think it's likely, but there _is _a chance that a citizen of Death City hired that creature."

Maka's eyes widened. "You mean someone with a grudge against Chrona?"

"We can't discount the possibility. If they aimed to capture you alive, I don't know what they were planning. Regardless, I'll conduct a thorough investigation. This will not happen again."

Chrona nodded, a dazed look on his face.

"I'll contact Stein and the others and tell them to return at once," Shinigami-sama said. "In the meantime, I advise you to go home and stay on guard." His image winked out of the mirror.

Maka stood, hands clenched into tight fists, trembling. A dull, hot anger burned in the center of her chest, creeping through her veins. The mere possibility that someone from Death City had done this…

She thought about the distrustful looks, the whispers which passed between people as Chrona walked by. She thought about the rocks thrown, the shouts of, _Witch!_

"Maka?" Chrona's voice was soft, uncertain. "D-do you…do you really think it could be someone from Death City?"

She turned to face him. He looked lost, forlorn, clutching his arm with one hand, his eyes sad and uncertain…and Maka felt a wave of protectiveness and tenderness so strong, it made her ache. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight. "No matter who it is, we'll find them and stop them. I promise."

He hid his face against her shoulder. His arms slipped around her waist. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked.

"For what?"

"Th-that I'm so much trouble."

"This isn't your fault, Chrona. You haven't done anything wrong."

"It's happening because of me. It would be easier for everyone—easier for _you _if I wasn't—"

Maka tensed. "Don't. Don't say things like that."

"B-but…it's true, isn't it? If I had never come here at all, you…"

"No." She pulled back and gripped his arms, her eyes burning into his. "Don't even _think _that. I forbid it. I just came way too close to losing you. When I found you like that in your apartment, it was the scariest moment of my life. I won't allow you to believe for one moment that I'd be better off without you. Because it's not true." Her fingers tightened on his arms, and her voice softened. "You're precious to me. I _need_ you."

He stared at her, his eyes huge in his pale, blood-spattered face. "Maka..."

She hugged him close, tight, as if she would never let go.

Slowly, his tense body relaxed against hers.

-To be continued


	10. Chapter 10

Shinigami sat at a table in the Death Room, cradling a teacup which looked tiny in his comically large hands. Dr. Stein stood before him, his expression grim.

He'd listened silently as Shinigami told him what had happened in the infirmary. Now Stein's jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. "I shouldn't have left them alone."

"Maka and Chrona are unharmed." Shinigami took a sip from his cup. "That's the important thing. No luck tracking down that witch, I take it?"

"We lost sight of her soul shortly after we left Death City."

Shinigami sighed. "Then we're back to square one. She certainly is slippery, isn't she?"

"Slippery and dangerous." Stein cranked the bolt in his head. "She was responsible for this attack. There's no doubt in my mind."

"I'm sure the witch is involved somehow, but she might only be part of the puzzle."

Stein frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She hasn't attacked us directly yet, which means she's either in a weakened state or prefers to manipulate others from the shadows…possibly both. Also, take a look at this." He pulled a sheet of paper out from his spiky black robes and extended it to Stein, who leaned forward.

"What is that?"

"Recently, certain people started a petition demanding that Chrona be expelled. These are their signatures."

Stein took the petition and peered at the list of names. His pulse quickened. "Quite a few people." He handed it back to Shinigami.

A small nod. "Some of the parents are threatening to withdraw their own children from Shibusen if something isn't done. They're afraid the school isn't safe with Chrona there. As a parent myself, I can understand where they're coming from. Those protective urges can be very strong, can't they? Even if they're not always rational." He sipped his tea.

Stein met Shinigami's gaze—or rather, the eyeholes of his mask. "And you think the witch is somehow involved in this, as well?"

"Well, witches _are _notoriously good at stirring up chaos and panic. If she's after Chrona, she'll probably find some way to use this to her advantage. But what her ultimate goal is, I can't say."

"What are you going to do?"

"Chrona will remain at the school. I've already made my decision about that. This doesn't change it."

A subtle tension eased out of Stein's shoulders. "I'm glad."

Shinigami set the cup down. "We'll remain on guard. Right now, that's all we _can_ do." He paused, peering at Stein through his inscrutable mask. "You look as if you have something else you want to say."

Stein hesitated. "I have absolute faith in Chrona's loyalty to Shibusen. I've been treating him for awhile now, and I can say with no doubt that whatever other issues he may have, there's not a hint of treachery or deceit in his heart." He adjusted his glasses. "Still…I'm troubled by what the future might hold for him."

Shinigami tilted his head. "Oh?"

"Chrona is half-witch, and there've been indications that he's inherited the potential for witchcraft, even if those powers haven't fully developed yet."

Shinigami spread his hands. "And?"

Stein frowned.

Shinigami had a habit of feigning ignorance and asking questions he already knew the answers to. Often, he used it as a way to make people think more carefully about what they were saying, or to glean something from the person's response. But he almost never did it with Stein. Why now? "There are certain risks associated with witchcraft," he said. "Risks we can't ignore."

"Really?" Shinigami scratched his head with one finger. "What would those be?"

_Still playing games._ "Witch magic is destructive, by its very nature," Stein said, suppressing his impatience. "It affects their minds, influencing them toward madness and cruelty. If the sway of magic takes hold over Chrona, his mind will grow more and more unstable. He'll become like he was in the beginning, before Maka brought him here."

"That's the theory," Shinigami said. "But I do wonder. Is witchcraft inherently evil? Are they truly driven mad by their innate powers, or is there something else at work?"

Stein blinked. For a moment, he was too surprised to respond. He'd had the same doubts himself, but he'd never voiced them in the presence of Shinigami. Shibusen itself was built on the principal that witches were too dangerous to be left to their own devices, that they couldn't be reasoned with, that the only choice was to hunt them and put them down, like rabid dogs. If they were wrong…

"That's what we teach our students," Stein said. He spoke slowly and carefully, in case this was some new game meant to test him. "That's what's written in all our textbooks. Are you saying that we're mistaken? That _you've _been mistaken, all these years?"

"Not necessarily. But it doesn't hurt to reexamine our assumptions from time to time, does it?" He stared off into space. As usual, his simple, comical mask gave away nothing. "Chrona has done terrible things, it's true. But at heart, he's an innocent child who has suffered greatly. For that reason, I've forgiven him and allowed him to stay. But I must admit to an ulterior motive, as well."

Stein's frown deepened. "What's that, Shinigami-sama?"

For a long moment, he was silent, staring off into space. "Witches and Shibusen have been bitter enemies for many years," he said at last. His voice had lost its comical lightness, grown deep and pensive. "And many consider this to be the natural way of things—an extension of the perpetual struggle between chaos and order. Our fate. Oh, there are those who change sides, but they are regarded as rare exceptions." He met Stein's gaze. "How many of them have we killed, over the centuries?"

Stein didn't answer. It seemed to be a rhetorical question, anyway.

"Is it any surprise that they hate the world order? That they want to tear it down and build a new world, even if it's one ruled by madness? So they keep attacking us, and we keep attacking them, and the harder we fight, the more enmeshed in war we become, each side unwilling to give ground for fear of being overwhelmed by the other…like a Chinese finger-trap, one we've been stuck in for centuries." He sipped his tea. "Chrona truly wishes to live in the light. You said so yourself. His heart is pure, despite all the ugliness in his past…but still, the odds are stacked against him. Fate is always trying to pull him back into the darkness. Is the will of a single, fragile soul strong enough to change destiny? That's the answer I seek."

He drained his teacup and set it down. "And if the answer is yes, then perhaps we're not bound by fate, after all. Perhaps someday, this war can end."

In that moment, Stein's already considerable respect for Shinigami-sama rose a little more. He smiled, inclining his head forward in a small nod.

Shinigami's voice lightened. "Chrona will remain a student at Shibusen." He glanced at the petition on his table. "But keep an eye on this situation."

"Understood."

"And one more thing. If Chrona chooses to continue his career as a Meister, he must gain greater control over his emotions. We can't risk him going berserk during a real battle."

"Understood. I believe his relationship with Maka will help, in that regard. She has a stabilizing influence on him, even stronger than Marie's influence over me. It's quite remarkable, actually." He paused. "I'm not certain, but at times I almost glimpse a visible link between their souls, like a cord. A luminous cord…but it's different from the link that appears during resonance. I've never encountered anything like it."

A pause as Shinigami stared into space. "I have," he said. "A long time ago. Such things are rare, particularly in the young. But they exist."

Stein waited, but Shinigami didn't seem inclined to say anymore. Before he could ask, Shinigami said, "You may go."

Stein suppressed his frustration. He wanted to _know…_but when Shinigami dismissed you, you didn't argue. He left the Death Room and lit a cigarette as he walked down the hall.

He'd been reluctant to bring up the fact of Chrona's witch blood and the associated problems, even knowing that Shinigami was already aware of them. This was more than he'd hoped for. That Shinigami was willing to take such risks, to question such deeply held beliefs for the sake of a single child…

An image flashed through his mind: Black Star bleeding on the ground, riddled with stab wounds. A tiny chill wriggled down Stein's spine. It was sheer luck that none of Black Star's vital organs had been punctured. If one of those spikes had impaled his heart or his lungs, he would have been finished.

Chrona danced always on the edge of madness. Stein had been doing everything in his power to keep him stable, but if something pushed Chrona far enough, all the medicines in the world wouldn't be enough to save him.

Only Maka's presence in his life kept him halfway sane. She was his anchor, the force holding the jagged shards of his mind together.

He'd just have to trust in the power of that cord, whatever it was.

* * *

><p>It didn't seem safe to stay in the infirmary, after the attack, but Maka didn't want to send Chrona back home alone. She invited him to spend the night at her apartment, thinking it would be safer for him there.<p>

She wondered if anyplace in Death City was truly safe for him now.

When Maka and Chrona arrived at the apartment, Soul was in the kitchen, cooking vegetable curry on the stove.

Soul looked up, and his jaw dropped. "Uh…" He stared for a moment, then snapped his jaw shut. His gaze flicked from Maka to Chrona, whose clothes were still spattered with blood. "What happened?"

"We were attacked by a kishin egg in the infirmary," Maka said. "It was acting under orders to capture Chrona, but we don't know who sent it." At the stunned look on his face, she added, "It's okay. Chrona took care of it."

"You're okay?" he asked, still looking a bit dazed.

"I'm fine. We both are." She hesitated. "Can Chrona stay here tonight?"

"Sure."

"Thank you." Maka glanced at Chrona. "We'll get some spare clothes from your apartment later. In the meantime, you can borrow some of Soul's pajamas…though they'll probably be short on you. For now, do you want to take a shower?"

Chrona glanced down at his blood-covered self and nodded, clutching his arm.

"Man." Soul gave him an awkward smile. "You just can't get a break, can you?"

Chrona looked at Soul with large, uncertain eyes. "I'm sorry to impose." He fidgeted. "I know it's a bother. I'll t-try to stay out of the way. I won't make any noise—"

Soul placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, okay? You're our friend."

Maka gave Chrona's hand a squeeze. "That's right."

Chrona lowered his gaze, a pink flush creeping into his cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered.

* * *

><p>In the bathroom, Chrona turned on the shower, peeled off his bloodstained clothes, and stepped under the hot spray. He stood there for a long time, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed.<p>

He didn't know how to deal with kindness, with Soul and Maka acting like it was okay for him to be here. Medusa-sama had always treated him as a burden and a nuisance, when she wasn't ordering him to kill something, and he'd always responded by hiding and staying quiet and generally making himself scarce. He wondered if Soul was really okay with it, or if he was pretending for Chrona's sake.

Shinigami-sama's words kept resounding in his head: _You aren't well-liked right now._

Chrona hugged himself, watching the blood-tinged water circle the drain.

Someone was after him. If not a witch, then someone in Death City. They'd probably send more hired thugs…maybe things worse than a kishin egg. And as long as he was close to Maka, he was putting her in danger too. He was putting both of them in danger, and the knowledge made him sick to his stomach.

He shut off the water, his chest aching. If anything happened to Maka because of him…

Chrona shuddered.

For a moment, he wondered if it would be better just to leave Death City. Leave everything behind, go somewhere there were no people, somewhere his presence couldn't hurt anyone.

He pushed the thought away. He'd run away once already, and he'd promised himself he wouldn't do it again. Shibusen was his home, his world.

He grabbed a towel and dried off. It occurred to him that he was naked and that Maka was in the living room, with only a door between them. With everything else he had on his mind, it shouldn't have seemed so important, but the realization made him blush all the way down to his collarbones. He gulped and quickly slid into his robe, though his skin was still damp.

He had to get a hold of himself and try to smile for Maka and Soul. They'd done so much for him. It was the least he could do.

* * *

><p>Soul had finished cooking the vegetable curry, and they sat around the table and ate it together. Chrona's stomach felt tight, but he forced food into his body, knowing he needed it; he'd eaten a little Jell-o and some soup in the infirmary, but that was all he'd had in the past twenty-four hours.<p>

He didn't say much, and Soul and Maka didn't ask him any questions. Maybe they knew how tired and scared he was, despite his efforts to hide it.

After dinner, they led him down the hall. The apartment was surprisingly spacious. In addition to the two bedrooms, there was a small guest room they'd been using for storage. It didn't have much in the way of furnishings, but there was a couch which folded out into a bed. "You can stay here," Maka said. She looked around at the piles of books and boxes of CDs inside. "We'll get some of this stuff cleared out tomorrow. I know it's not much…"

"It's fine."

She paused, looking up at him through her wheat-colored bangs. Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. He tensed in surprise, slowly relaxed against her, and slipped his arms around her waist.

Hugging her felt the same as always, warm and close and comforting…yet it was different. There was an awareness between them now that hadn't existed before, and he found himself remembering the taste of her lips, the brief flick of her tongue. His body grew warmer, and he trembled a little—with nervousness or something else, he wasn't sure.

Maka rested her head against his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. She didn't use the sort of fruity-smelling shampoos that a lot of girls did, so the scent was just her; light and natural and clean as a spring morning. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you," he whispered.

"Nothing bad will happen, as long as we stick together. We'll keep each other safe. And now that Shinigami-sama knows someone is after you, he'll be on guard. What happened in the infirmary won't happen again." She gave his waist a little squeeze. "Everything will be fine. You'll see."

His arms tightened around her. It felt so good just to hold her. So right. When her arms were wrapped around him, it was easier to believe that they truly _were _safe, that their love was like a magic protective bubble around them, keeping all the bad things out. He knew it didn't really work that way, but it was still a good feeling.

"Maka…" He stopped, self-conscious.

"Yes, Chrona?"

The answer was obvious, but he had to ask. "W-we're more than friends now?"

"That's right."

"Are we…" He trailed off. He didn't even know the right word. He'd never thought this far ahead, had never dared to believe that this moment would ever happen. It sounded silly to ask, _Are you my girlfriend?_ More than silly, it sounded presumptuous. But how else could he say it? He fumbled a moment longer before murmuring, "Are we…t-together? Like…a couple?"

"Do you want us to be?"

His heartbeat quickened. Did she even need to ask? "Yes."

"Then yes." She pulled back, just enough to meet his gaze. "Do you want to tell the others? About us? Or do you want to keep it private for now?"

His pulse jumped. "What do you want, Maka?"

She smiled. "I asked you first." Her tone was playful and gentle, but there was a serious note beneath. Maybe she knew that if she answered before him, he'd just go along with whatever she wanted.

Chrona didn't know what to say.

What would happen, if they told everyone? How would people react?

Their friends would accept it, probably. But Chrona knew all too well how most of the other students saw him. Already, people judged Maka for being his friend. If they found out she and Chrona were _together, _it might get worse for her. And what about her father? What would he think? Would he disapprove of his daughter being with a half-witch traitor? Would it make Maka sad, if he did? She pretended not to care about Spirit or what he thought, but she was still hurt by the things he did, which meant she _did _care.

So many bad things could happen to her. But if he said he wanted to keep it private, Maka might be hurt. She might think…he didn't know what she might think, but it probably wouldn't be good. "I don't want to hide it," he whispered. "But…I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what will happen to you if people know. I'm…" He trailed off, staring at his feet.

"I don't care what anyone else thinks, Chrona. I'm asking what _you _want."

"I want to do what makes you happy. That's all."

For a long moment, she didn't reply. That green gaze searched his again, as if her eyes were reaching deep inside his for the answers she sought. "This is still new," she said. "For both of us. And we have plenty of time. We can wait until we're ready."

He probably shouldn't feel relieved at those words. He should want to tell the world about this, shouldn't he? But it was all so much, and everything felt so raw and fragile, and he just didn't want her to get hurt. He would die if she got hurt because of him. "Okay."

She stood, looking up at him, as if she were waiting for something. His already rapid pulse sped. Did she want to kiss him again? Or did she want him to kiss _her?_

His breathing quickened as he stared at her lips, remembering the way they'd tasted. He wanted to taste them again. Surely that was okay. Surely that was allowed. But something held him back. A paralyzing shyness crept over him, and he clutched his arm nervously, looking away.

Even now, fear clung to him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he—

Maka's hands came up to frame his face, turning it toward her. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips gently to his. His breath hitched. Slowly, timidly, his lips began to move against hers. Her hands settled on his waist, pulling him closer. The tip of her tongue touched his parted lips, teasing them, running back and forth in a way that made them tingle pleasantly.

When she pulled back, he was flushed and breathless.

She smiled up at him. Her lips were damp, glistening, slightly swollen with kisses. He stared at them raptly. And for a moment, he wondered if they would keep going, if—

His heart leaped into his throat, and he gulped, trying to push it back down. But Maka simply whispered, "Good night, Chrona. I'll see you in the morning?"

He nodded, dazed.

She paused, one hand still resting on his shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "For giving me that book." Her thumb brushed against the side of his neck. "It took your words to make me realize how I felt. I know it wasn't easy. But I'm so glad you did it."

He wondered if she really knew just how scary it had been. Maka was so brave and strong. She wasn't scared of anything.

But looking into her eyes, he had the strange feeling she understood.

"I meant it all, you know," he whispered. "Every word."

"I know." She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes filled with a tangle of emotions. There were too many to sort out, and there shadows of uncertainty mixed in, but the love shone through, like sunbeams breaking through clouds.

Quietly, she left the room.

* * *

><p>Maka had left a set of pajamas for Chrona. He changed into them and curled up on the bed, hugging his pillow. Outside his window, he could see the moon's grin and the blood dripping between its teeth.<p>

Now that Maka wasn't there, the sense of safety and warmth quickly faded. Doubts and fears started to creep back into his heart, like cold rain leaking through the roof of a shoddy house.

His back prickled and stung as Ragnarok emerged. He settled atop Chrona's head and peered down at his face. "What's wrong _now_? You've finally got your little girlfriend. You get to be all soppy and lovey-dovey and have your faggy fairytale romance just like you always dreamed."

"Ragnarok—"

"And I don't care if she _is_ a girl, you're both total fags. But whatever. You ought to be on cloud nine. _I'm_ the one who should be moping. Now I have to put up with that annoying cow all the time."

"Don't call her that," Chrona replied automatically. He hugged his pillow tighter. "And I _am _happy."

"So why do you look like someone just pissed on your ice cream sundae?"

He closed his eyes. He couldn't hide anything from Ragnarok; they'd known each other too long. "Because I'm endangering my friends just by being here."

"You're worried about what ol' Skullface said? Who cares? If anyone else comes after us, we'll just cut them to ribbons." He yawned and lightly punched Chrona's head. "Get some sleep."

"Okay." Chrona closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come.

He _was _worried about what Shinigami-sama had said, but it was more than that. He found himself replaying the last few days in his head—the Halloween Dance, the decision to give Maka that book, the overdose, the kiss in the infirmary—and the more he thought about how everything had happened, the more he wondered…

It couldn't be, could it?

He tried to push the thought away, but it kept drifting back.

He tossed and turned for awhile. His throat prickled with thirst. He wondered if it would be okay for him to get a glass of water. No one was awake, so he couldn't ask permission. But as long as he was very careful not to disturb anyone, maybe it was all right.

He slid out of bed, crept down the hall toward the kitchen…and froze.

Soul was in the living room, sitting on the couch, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. The TV was on, the volume turned down low. Soul looked up. "Can't sleep?"

Chrona shook his head.

"Me neither."

Chrona wondered if Soul, too, was worried about what had happened in the infirmary. "I-is it okay if I have a glass of water?"

Soul blinked. "Sure. The glasses are in the cabinet on the left." After a moment, he added, "You don't need to ask permission for something like that. You might be staying here awhile, so make yourself at home."

_Home. _The word sent a shiver of emotion rippling through him, something he couldn't define, something that was both happy and sad. "Thank you." Chrona filled a glass from the tap and gulped it down. He hesitated in the doorway to the living room. "Soul? C-can I ask you something?"

Soul muted the TV. "Go ahead."

Chrona bit his lower lip.

He knew he shouldn't doubt Maka's words. Surely, she wouldn't lie about something so important, not even to protect his feelings. But a hint of uncertainty remained, itching in the back of his brain. Soul would know the answer. He was Maka's best friend; she'd probably talked to him about this.

Chrona took a deep breath, steeled himself, and asked, "Is she pretending?"

Soul frowned. "Huh?"

"I mean…sh-she told me how she feels about me, but…" He looked down at his bare feet, hair hanging in his eyes. "Is she telling the truth? Or…"

"Why do you think she'd lie about that?" Soul sounded bewildered.

Chrona's gaze remained on his feet. They were long and skinny and pale and he'd never liked them. "She's always protected me," he said. "Even from myself. And after what I did, after taking all those pills…" His throat swelled, and his voice dropped to a faint whisper. "Sh-she might feel like she _has _to lie. She might be afraid that if she rejects me, I'll…do something drastic. A-and I don't want—"

"Dude," Soul said, "I know you've got some self-esteem issues, but this is ridiculous. I mean, you've _met _Maka, right? Do you really think she's the sort of girl who would pretend to be in love with a guy just to avoid hurting his feelings?"

Chrona didn't answer. But he knew—and Soul knew, surely—that it wasn't that simple. Maka had brought Chrona here, and she felt responsible for him. She'd already risked everything for him. She didn't lie easily, but she might lie if she thought it was necessary to preserve Chrona's sanity.

And Soul still hadn't answered the question. The fingers of Chrona's right hand dug into his left arm. "Please," he blurted out, "just tell me the truth."

Soul was silent a long moment, and a void of dread grew in Chrona's stomach. He didn't quite dare to look at Soul's expression.

"You remember when you and Marie-sensei went after Medusa?" Soul asked at last, quietly.

He looked up and blinked, puzzled. Of course he remembered.

"A lot was going on, then," Soul said. "The madness was swallowing everyone. Shibusen's forces were all sent to Arachne's castle to take her down, along with the Kishin. The fate of the world was at stake, basically."

Chrona was silent.

Soul rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "As long as I've known Maka, she's always thought with her head instead of her heart. She's always been a good student, doing things by the book and pushing her own feelings aside. But during that whole mess, when the world was coming apart at the seams, all she could think about was you. I'd never seen her so obsessed with anything or anyone. When the time came to make a choice, she chose to abandon the mission and go after you. You realize what that means, don't you?"

Still, he said nothing.

"It means that you were more important to her than the entire world."

Chrona drew in his breath sharply.

Soul met his gaze. "She's not pretending. She loves you. And she's _in _love with you. She told me as much, before you woke up." He smiled. It was a strange, complicated, half-sad smile. Chrona didn't know what to make of it. "This sorta thing comes along once in a lifetime. Don't fuck it up with a bunch of crazy self-doubt. Okay?"

Chrona's hands had started to tremble. A lump formed in his throat, cutting off air and voice. "Thank you," he whispered.

Soul smiled, and this time it was more like his usual grin, full of confidence and sharp teeth. "Don't mention it."

* * *

><p>Chrona lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.<p>

Maka loved him. Was in love with him. His mind spun.

It was all real.

A flush of warmth spread through his chest, and he hugged his pillow tightly, dizzy with the knowledge—which, for the first time, felt like a certainty. He buried his face against the pillow and whispered her name over and over, like a prayer. _Maka. _A soft breath of air broken by a tap of the tongue against the roof of his mouth. Such a simple name. But to him, those two syllables were the whole world.

He was still whispering it as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>A slim, cloaked figure crept through the streets of Death City. The faint glow of streetlights did little to penetrate the darkness, but it didn't matter. She didn't need light to see.<p>

She paused, pulled up her sleeve, and stared down at the sickly purple splotches on her arm. A sigh escaped her lips.

Already, this body was rotting.

She'd done everything she could to purge herself of that foul wavelength. She'd split her soul into a thousand tiny fragments and reassembled it a dozen times, but the offending particles remained within her like a stubborn virus. Her counter-spells weren't strong enough to destroy it, only slow its effects. Always, she could feel it eating away at her, trying to push her soul out of its host body, to ravage her mind and destroy her essence.

The sickness itched and burned like maggots writhing beneath her skin. Worse, with each new body she took, the rot spread more quickly. This host might last another week, if she was lucky.

But another week was all she needed.

She paused outside an apartment complex, staring up at a single lit window. She could sense Chrona's soul within, along with that meddlesome girl's and her Weapon's, and the soul of an animal. A cat?

Chrona was living with others, now. She hadn't expected that.

Her gaze remained fixed on the window, and her eyes narrowed. So close. Yet she dared not approach him directly. Not when that irritating girl was so close—she could envision the scythe-Meister prowling at his side like a loyal guard dog, ready to rend and kill anything that threatened his little glass mind.

How _frustrating _it was, to be so weakened. It was all she could do to hold her Soul Protect in place. She touched her cheek and felt spots of purple rot burning and stinging under her fingertips.

But it didn't matter. She didn't need to approach him. Soon enough, he would come to her.

A smile curved her lips. She breathed deep of the cool night air and stared up at the grinning moon.

Still smiling, she turned and padded away on silent, bare feet.

* * *

><p>"Chrona!" Maka's voice sing-songed from the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready!"<p>

He uncurled himself slowly and glanced at the clock. He hadn't meant to sleep this late. He changed out of his striped pajamas and into his robe, ran a comb through his messy hair, and glanced into the mirror. Self-consciously, he smoothed his robe and straightened the collar. There were faint bags visible under his eyes—they never quite went away—but aside from that, he looked okay. Or at least, as "okay" as he ever looked.

Chrona had always hated his appearance; the sickly paleness of his skin, the way his eyes always seemed to be begging mutely, the way his hair looked messy and uneven no matter what he did to it, the way his spine refused to straighten. He hated his frail, gangly, scarred body. Just looking at his own image filled him with jittery anxiety.

But Maka liked him as more than a friend. Did that mean she liked his body, too?

It was hard for him to wrap his head around the idea. But even if it was true, what would happen when she saw—

Chrona shoved the thought away. He couldn't deal with that. Not yet.

He turned away from the mirror and headed into the kitchen, where Maka and Soul were already at the table. A massive plate of pancakes sat in the center, along with butter and syrup, and more pancakes bubbled on the griddle. Bacon sizzled in a pan nearby.

Blair sat on the counter in her cat form, wearing a miniature apron and waving a paw, humming. "Pum-pumpkin!" she turned her paw. The pancake flew off the griddle, into the air, and stuck to the ceiling.

"Wouldn't it be easier to use a spatula?" Maka asked.

"I'll get the next one right," Blair said. "I need to practice my magic."

The half-cooked pancake dropped from the ceiling. Ragnarok burst from Chrona's back, caught it in his mouth, and swallowed it in one gulp.

Maka winced. "That batter has raw egg in it."

"I don't care." Ragnarok grabbed the bowl of batter and began scooping it into his mouth with one tiny, round hand. "It tastes better like this."

Maka tried to grab the bowl from him, and he held it out of her reach, cackling. "Give me that!"

"Pum-pum-pumpkin!" Another pancake hit the ceiling with a splat.

Chrona stood, clutching his arm, not sure what to do.

Soul nodded toward an empty chair and said, "You can go ahead and start eating if you want. Breakfasts around here are a little chaotic, as you might have noticed."

Chrona nodded uncertainly and sat. Ragnarok grabbed a pancake from the pile in the middle and stuffed it into his mouth.

Maka gave him a frown. "Don't you know how to use a fork and knife?"

"Don't need 'em. What am I supposed to do anyway, balance the plate on Chrona's head?" He leaned down and grabbed another pancake. "This is easier. Unless you want to feed me." He opened his mouth wide, long strings of drool glistening between his teeth.

Maka winced. "Yuck. Close your mouth."

Ragnarok stuck his tongue out. It was covered with gooey pancake crumbs. "Bleeeagh."

"Gross! Learn some table manners, or you're not getting any food!"

"Pum-pumpkin!" Blair waved her paw, and a pancake flew across the room and hit the wall. "Oops!" She giggled.

Soul sighed and smiled at Chrona, who was huddled in his chair, wondering what to do. "Welcome to the family."

Chrona looked around at them all.

_Family._

Tears welled in his eyes. He ducked his head and wiped them away before anyone could see.

* * *

><p>For the next few days, Chrona felt like he was floating. When he walked, his steps were light and buoyant. Giddiness bubbled up in him at odd moments, making his heartbeat quicken and his stomach do funny things.<p>

Just the memory of kissing Maka would have been enough to sustain him. He could replay those memories in his head a thousand times and never get tired of them. He could spend hours just hugging his pillow, happily daydreaming about her. But she kept giving him more. Whenever they were alone together, she would lean over, and her lips would find his, sending thrills to the base of his spine and making his toes clench in his shoes.

It still felt unreal. Like a beautiful dream he would wake up from at any moment.

In class, Maka kept looking over at him and smiling, and he would blush and fiddle with his pencil and smile back shyly.

She still hadn't told anyone except Soul and Blair, and at school, they didn't do things like hold hands or kiss…but Maka touched him more often than usual, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, straighten the collar of his robe, or brush a hand against his arm. There was something deliberate about those seemingly casual touches, as if she wanted everyone to see.

The thought made him feel strange. Not only was Maka _not_ embarrassed by him, but she actually wanted people to know about the feelings between them. Her smiles and touches warmed him. Bit by bit, they thawed the icy core of doubt and fear inside his heart.

One day, after class, they were walking down the hall. No one else was around. Maka had already put her books away in her locker, and she walked with her gloved hands interlaced behind her back.

It was November. The weather was starting to turn cool—or as cool as it ever got in Death City, anyway—so lately she'd been wearing her black coat and gloves all the time.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked.

So many times, in the past, he'd wanted to tell her how pretty she was or how he liked the way she looked in certain things, but he'd always held back, not sure if it was appropriate for a friend to say something like that. But now that they were more than friends…

"I like how that looks on you," he murmured.

She stopped and turned to him with a curious expression. "What?"

"Th-the coat." He fiddled with a button on his cuff, self-conscious. He could feel the blood creeping into his cheeks and ears. "And the gloves. I like them."

She glanced down at herself, a puzzled frown on her face. He wondered if he'd said something wrong, and his stomach did an uneasy flip-flop. "I always dress like this," she said.

"I know. B-but I always thought…" He gulped. "When I look at you, it just makes me…I don't know."

He wished—not for the first time—that he had better words to give her. He wished, at least, that he could express himself without stuttering for once.

When he looked up, Maka was staring at him intently. She wasn't smiling, but there was a light flush in her cheeks. "It makes you what?" she asked. Her voice sounded odd. Lower than usual, slightly husky.

His pulse drummed in his throat, and his fingers pressed hard into his arm. "Every time I look at you, it's like that moment when our souls first touched."

Maka was still staring at him with that intent, focused gaze, locked onto him, as if he were the only thing in the world. As if she couldn't see anything else.

She placed her gloved hands on his chest and pushed him up against the nearest wall. His breathing quickened, and he tensed, looking down at her with wide eyes. "Maka?" Her name escaped him as a breathless whisper.

Then her lips were on his.

His heartbeat sped. His first, panicked thought was that someone might see them, someone might get angry that they were kissing in school. A moment later, his eyes slipped shut and all he could think about was how warm and silky her lips felt against his, the taste of strawberry chapstick and Maka. His hands settled shyly on her waist, then drifted up to slide into her hair. His lips parted, gasping for breath, and her tongue touched his…then it was in his mouth, a shock of heat and wetness.

They'd kissed a few times since that moment in the infirmary, but not like this, not so deeply. It felt different. Weird and slippery, but good. Her tongue was like damp velvet, and the inside of her mouth was hot and slick.

It made him think about another part of her. He wondered if it would feel like that. Soft and wet.

As soon as the thought darted through his mind, he tensed. He tried very hard not to think about—about things like that, but it was difficult to stop himself, especially when she was doing _this, _pushing him up against the wall and kissing him as if she couldn't get enough, as if she wanted to eat him up. He felt himself getting hard beneath his robe, and the rush of embarrassment made him dizzy.

But Maka didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't mind. She just kept kissing him. Hungry. Aggressive. Like she was losing control, like she'd been when the madness took hold of her, licking and biting like a wild animal.

In the depths of his mind, something stirred; a faint memory. He tried to push it away, to shove it back into the darkness, but it was too late.

He started to shake. His lips stopped moving against hers. He stood frozen, paralyzed.

She pulled back. "Chrona?" Her voice was breathless. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes." His voice emerged small and soft, unconvincing. He couldn't stop shaking.

Her brows knitted together as she searched his eyes. Her hands fell away from his chest. Small, even teeth caught at her lower lip. "Is it something I did?" She looked suddenly guilty, fearful, like a child who'd been caught doing something bad.

He hated that he'd put that look in her eyes.

"No," he whispered. "It's not you. I-it felt good. I just…" He trailed off. How could he possibly explain this to her? "I'm sorry."

He was always apologizing. Those words were so small and useless—they didn't matter, couldn't change anything—but he couldn't seem to help himself.

"It's okay," Maka said.

For a moment, they stood in awkward silence. "Do you want to go home?" Maka asked quietly.

He nodded, unable to look at her.

* * *

><p>They walked back to the apartment. Maka watched Chrona from the corner of her eye. Neither one of them had spoken since they left the school, and the silence bothered her. Often, when she was with Chrona, there was no need to speak—it was enough just to be together—but the quiet didn't usually feel this awkward.<p>

"What do you want to have for dinner?" she asked, keeping her tone bright. "I thought we could stop and get takeout from that sushi place."

He gave her a tiny, strained smile. "That sounds good."

Ragnarok burst from his back and said, "I want the fried tempura tuna rolls. With that spicy sauce."

"Okay. Chrona, what would you like?"

"Cucumber rolls."

"Man, you always get that," Ragnarok said. "That's not even real sushi. Get something with dead fish in it! This is why you're still a scrawny little bean sprout." He grabbed Chrona's cheeks and pulled.

"_Ow! _Cut it out!"

"Ragnarok, leave him alone."

"It's okay, Maka," Chrona said, wincing as Ragnarok pulled his cheeks harder. "I can deal with it."

Ragnarok started pinching his nose.

"Ow, Ragnarok, that stings. It's going to start bleeding."

Ragnarok ignored him and kept squishing his face around like clay. Chrona reached up and knocked a fist against the side of the Weapon's head. "I said stop."

"Ooh, scary." Ragnarok gave him one last punch and then vanished into his back.

They kept walking. The awkward silence descended on them again. Maka almost wished Ragnarok would come out and say something obnoxious again, just to break up the tension.

She tried to think of something to say, but before she could, Chrona spoke quietly. "I'm sorry. About what happened back there."

"You don't have to be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

He gripped his arm, knuckles whitening. "I shouldn't have stopped. You wanted to keep going. _I_ wanted to keep going. I just…"

"It's all right," she said. "I can understand why you wouldn't want to do that in a public place." In truth, Maka was a little embarrassed about the way she'd acted, grabbing him and pushing him against the wall like some kind of crazed nymphomaniac. It was the sort of thing she might have expected from Blair, not herself. Maka had always believed that things like that—intimate things—should be done in privacy. And Chrona was so shy, she should have known...

But she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on. The way he'd suddenly tensed up and started to shake…

She reached out and took his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He stared at the ground. "I don't know how to explain."

She stared at his face for a moment, trying to read those pale, blue-gray eyes. At last, she gave his hand a squeeze and said, "When you're ready."

He met her gaze. "You're not mad? Or disappointed?"

"Of course not."

He hesitated…then leaned toward her and kissed the corner of her mouth. It was the softest ghost of a kiss, just a brush of lips over skin, but it sent a sweet shiver through her. Chrona rarely initiated kisses—having gone most of his life without love, he was still learning how to give and receive it—but that just made it all the more special when he did.

As they walked, the back of her neck tingled suddenly, as if eyes watched them from the shadows. But when she looked over her shoulder, there was nothing there.

-To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

AN: This is a very dialogue-heavy chapter. Hopefully it won't be too slow-paced. The next few chapters will have a lot more happening in them, both in terms of the plot and the relationship between Chrona and Maka, so I want to properly set up everything. So without further ado...

* * *

><p>A group of people stood in the shade of an awning, talking in the hushed, urgent tones reserved for secrets and gossip. Nearby, a cloaked form stood in the shadows, listening.<p>

"The offspring of a witch…how can Shinigami-sama believe that any good can come of having him here?" one woman whispered.

"He'll turn against Shibusen, mark my word," a man said. "Witches crave destruction. It's their nature."

"Shinigami-sama has been awfully friendly with their kind lately, hasn't he? First he accepted that Diehl girl into their school, then he took in that witch child Angela…and now he continues to tolerate that mad freak of nature."

Murmurs of agreement.

"That creature has proven time and again that he can't be trusted. Why d'you suppose he isn't expelled? Or imprisoned?"

The cloaked form stepped forward and spoke in a low voice: "I heard that Shinigami-sama made a deal with his mother, the witch Medusa. He freed her in exchange for information. Perhaps he also promised protection for her child."

"A deal with a witch?"

"It's madness. Might as well make a deal with a wild animal!"

Angry mutters.

"I tell you, while that monster is in Shibusen, I don't feel safe. I've even thought of withdrawing my own children from the school."

The cloaked woman stepped back, and her lips moved, forming silent words: "_Nake-snake, cobra-cobara. Nake-snake, cobra-cobara…"_

The angry voices escalated as the small spells stoked the flames of resentment and suspicion. A smile curved the woman's lips. These people barely needed her help; their ire was strong even without it. But a few nudges wouldn't hurt. Minor magic was all she could do now, but even the smallest spell—properly placed—could accomplish much.

She crept away, down the street, while the citizens' voices rose louder and louder.

"If it were my decision, I'd banish the little traitor! Damn the agreement! Why should we honor an agreement with a witch?"

"Banishment's too good for 'im. Fry the little bastard's brains, I say. He's had more than his fair share of chances!"

She rounded a corner, bare feet soft as cat paws on the cobblestones. She drifted through the city like a wraith, unnoticed—another small spell kept passers-by from paying too much attention to her—and listened when she heard people talking. She whispered into their ears, prodding them gently with magic, nurturing their hatred.

As she drifted back into the shadows, she pulled up a sleeve and glanced at the spreading purple blotch. The pain was a constant dull burn. Perhaps she'd need another host sooner than she thought. She tugged the sleeve up, hiding the stain.

A wave of weakness washed over her, and she paused to lean against a wall, panting. A hot, angry buzz filled her head, like hornets swarming into her brain. Her vision grayed out. She shut her eyes tight, and a bolt of panic ripped through her—if she passed out, she'd drop her Soul Protect, they would find her, they would hunt her down like an animal. Then the dizziness passed, and she straightened, breathing shakily. But the swarm of hornets remained in her head, their dull buzz almost blotting out her thoughts.

She kept walking.

He would come to her, she assured herself. Once things got bad enough in Shibusen, he would run to her arms. In the end, he always returned. She was his first—first loyalty, first bond, first everything—and she would be his last. The tie of blood was too strong for him to resist.

* * *

><p>The sun blazed overhead, huffing laughter, as Maka, Soul and Chrona joined the other two teams in the park for their group resonance practice. Chrona hoped it would go better than the last one.<p>

Dr. Stein was there, too. He faced the group of assembled students, arms crossed over his chest. "By now, you all may have heard about what happened. On the night after the Halloween Dance, Chrona and Maka were attacked by a kishin egg known as Freddy the Axe, acting under the orders of someone he called 'Boss.' We don't know who sent him. But whoever it is, it seems they intend to capture Chrona. I'm telling you this so that you'll all remain on guard. There's a possibility that others may be targeted and attacked, as well."

Chrona stood with his head bowed, clutching his arm. The others were staring at him; he could feel the weight of their gazes. He knew they were only concerned, but all he could think was that his presence was causing trouble again.

"Everyone keep your eyes and ears open," Stein said. "If you see anything strange, report it at once."

Kid nodded grimly. "May I ask, does this have anything to do with the witch that's been sighted in the desert?"

"It's possible that she's the one pulling the strings, yes…which makes it all the more important to continue working on group resonance. It's unlikely that any single Meister and Weapon pair will be strong enough to take down a witch, so it's essential that you learn to work as a team."

Chrona wondered if Stein was going to mention the other possibility—that someone in Death City had hired Freddy—and he tensed. But Stein said nothing more.

"Lead me to 'em!" shouted Black Star. He gave Chrona a grin and a thumbs up. "Whoever's after you, I'll kick their sorry butts."

"That's right," Kid said, giving Chrona a reassuring smile. "We won't allow any harm to come to you."

Chrona looked around at them, at their smiles, and a lump rose into his throat. He blinked rapidly, chasing back tears. He still didn't understand it—why they were all so kind to him, how they could so easily forgive him for everything. "Thank you," he whispered.

Maka's hand settled on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You don't need to thank us. Friends look out for each other."

Black Star thrust a fist skyward. "Right! Let's get to work! We're gonna get strong so we can pound this witch into the ground."

Maka reached out and threaded her fingers through Chrona's. He drew in his breath swiftly.

Chrona met her gaze. She smiled at him, a slight flush in her cheeks, and rubbed her thumb against his palm. The warmth sent tingles racing up the nerves of his arm, and he gulped, his gaze riveted on hers. "Do you want to tell them?" she whispered into his ear. "I mean…as long as everyone's here?"

The idea made his breathing quicken with panic. They'd decided to wait a little while, but they hadn't talked about how long "a little while" was. Maybe it was time. But was he ready? He could still barely believe it was _true._ Could he really announce it to all his friends?

But Maka was standing beside him, holding his hand, looking at him with a warm, encouraging smile. With her next to him, he felt like anything was possible. He took a deep breath and faced the others, who were looking at them with curious expressions. "Maka and I are…" He paused, wondering how to say it. Did he say that they were a couple now? That she was his girlfriend?

She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.

"W-we're…together," Chrona said. Hearing the words aloud made him feel giddy and terrified at the same time.

"That's right," Maka said.

She reached up, cupped his cheek, turned his face toward her, and kissed him. Right there, in front of everyone. His eyes widened.

For a moment, his chest clenched and he forgot how to breathe. He didn't know how to deal with kissing in front of other people. Then his lips began to tingle pleasantly, his eyes slipped shut, and the rest of the world fell away. There was just the warmth of her mouth against his, the simple sweetness of it.

When Maka pulled back, he was breathless, and everyone was staring at them. Chrona fidgeted, his self-consciousness rushing back. He was afraid of what he'd see in their expressions, afraid they wouldn't accept this, but he forced himself to look.

Soul was smiling. The others looked surprised…but as he watched, their expressions relaxed into warm smiles, as well.

All except Black Star, who kept staring, his eyes bulging, his jaw hanging open. "Maka and Chrona?" he blurted out. "You're les—"

Tsubaki punched him on top of the head.

"I mean, congratulations!" Black Star said, grinning awkwardly as he rubbed his head. For some reason, he had a slight nosebleed. "Heh, Maka, you've got good taste in women."

"Chrona's a boy," Maka said, blank-faced.

"Eh—?" Black Star's grin remained frozen in place, but his eyes lost focus. "What?"

"Yeah." Soul arched an eyebrow at him. "You still didn't know?"

Black Star blinked a few times. "B-but…"

"Hey." Patty leaned toward him, tilting her head and looking at him with bright, curious eyes. "Why is your nose bleeding?"

The dazed, bewildered look hadn't left his face. "B-because—two girls, and they were—but…" A strange look crossed his face, as if he'd bitten into something he thought was red bean paste and then realized it was actually liverwurst. Then his eyes widened in horror, and he clamped both hands over his nose. _ "Aaaagh!" _He turned and ran off into the woods, flailing his arms as if chased by a swarm of angry bees.

Chrona stared after him. "What just happened?"

"I think he blew a fuse in his brain," Soul said. "Happens sometimes."

Tsubaki gave them all an apologetic smile and said, "I'll go find him." She turned and walked off in the direction he'd run.

She returned minutes later with Black Star, who was grinning widely and insisting in a loud voice that he hadn't actually run away, he'd just been exercising his legs.

Stein sighed and said, "Right, let's get started. Everyone form a circle."

As they obeyed, Chrona cast an uncertain glance in Black Star's direction. Black Star kept laughing way too loud and talking about how he was going to transcend the entire universe, because the gods weren't a big enough challenge anymore, and he seemed to be trying very hard not to meet Chrona's gaze.

Chrona wondered if he'd done something wrong. Was Black Star mad at him now?

Maka must have noticed his troubled expression. She gave his hand a squeeze and whispered, "Don't worry about it. Everything's fine."

Chrona gave her a tentative smile.

Resonating with everyone was much easier than it had been the first time. Despite the sudden awkwardness, Chrona had no trouble tuning into the others' wavelengths. He stood, feeling their souls flow through him, warm and cool at the same time.

He knew they couldn't read his thoughts or feel his emotions. Only true partners could do that, and only during moments of very strong resonance…unless they possessed Soul Perception, and of everyone there, only Maka had that.

Still, he felt exposed. He knew they could all feel his soul, his essence. It was a lot like being naked, and he hated being naked.

But this was important. He had to know how to do this so that they could all fight together. He pushed down his discomfort and focused on breathing.

* * *

><p>Once practice was over, they all headed home. Chrona walked down the street alongside Maka, with Soul and Black Star trailing along some distance behind them. Chrona kept stealing nervous glances over his shoulder.<p>

"Am I the only one who was fooled?" Black Star whispered to Soul. He seemed to think no one else could hear him, though his whispers were louder than most people's normal speaking volume. "I mean, those hips, that girly ass…all this time I thought he was a chick. And I gave him _flowers._"

"_Pink_ flowers," Soul reminded him, grinning.

"Seriously, why didn't he say anything to me? And if he's a dude, what's up with the dress? I mean, not that I care what he wants to wear, but—"

"It's a robe, I think."

"Who wears a robe these days?"

"I dunno. Monks?"

Maka glared over her shoulder at them. "We can hear you, you know. And there's nothing wrong with wearing a robe."

Black Star tensed and raised both hands, as if surrendering. "I didn't say there was! Hey, how did you hear me? I was whispering."

Maka exhaled a heavy, exasperated breath. She reached out and took his Chrona's hand, interlacing her fingers with his, then turned down a side street. "Let's take the short cut."

It wasn't really a short cut—this way was actually a little longer—but he nodded and followed.

"Sorry," she said. "I just didn't want to listen to those two chuckleheads the whole way home."

Chrona walked alongside her in silence for a few minutes, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Did I do anything bad?" he asked softly.

"No, you didn't. People just get weird about this kind of thing sometimes." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Don't worry. He'll get over it."

Chrona nodded, the tension easing out of his shoulders. A tiny kernel of unease remained lodged in his heart. But if Maka told him it was okay, then it was okay.

He looked down at their intertwined fingers. Had they really just told everyone that they were together? The thought made him dizzy.

A voice deep inside his heart kept whispering that this was just temporary, that Maka would come to her senses, she would realize that he was a worthless person, after all. She would leave him. He kept telling himself that wasn't true, that it was just his own screwed up mind trying to sabotage him again. But deep down, he still expected to be abandoned.

And of course, there was that. He'd been trying not to think about that. But it was always there, lurking at the bottom of his brain.

It had been easier, in a way, believing that Maka could never see him as more than a friend. If they were just friends, it didn't matter so much. But now he was Maka's…boyfriend? Could he call himself that? And that meant…

His heartbeat quickened.

"Chrona, are you okay?"

He looked over and met Maka's gaze. She was looking at him with warmth, with concern. He forced a smile. "F-fine." He realized his hand had grown damp with sweat and winced—but she didn't seem inclined to let go. Instead, her grip tightened. "Maka…now that we're a c-c-couple…how does that work? I mean, what do we do?"

She looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Is that a weird question?"

"No, it's okay." She frowned, as if lost in thought. Maybe she wasn't sure how it worked, either. He sometimes forgot that this was all new to her too. "It's not that complicated, really," she said. "We just do things like we've been doing. Holding hands. Kissing. Cuddling."

"That's all?" Realizing how that sounded, he quickly added, "I mean—n-not that that isn't enough. I like doing those things. I like it a lot. I j-just thought…I mean…"

"You want to do more?" There was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Chrona winced. This was coming out all wrong. It sounded like he was trying to pressure her to go further, but that was the exact opposite of what he was trying to do. He didn't even know _what_ he was trying to do.

"I didn't mean it like that!" he blurted out, his voice a little squeaky. "I mean…" His breathing quickened. He couldn't let her think he was only interested in _that_. "I j-just want to do what we've been doing. That's all." No, that wasn't what he meant either. He didn't want her to think that he didn't _want _her. "I mean, I want you! But I—"

Oh God. Had he really just said that? Had he really just spoken the words _I want you _to Maka?

Chrona clutched his chest, straining to breathe against the pressure. His heart clenched in spasms, pumping wildly.

"What's wrong?"

He tried to answer, but he couldn't draw breath.

This was ridiculous. They were standing in the middle of the street, with people watching. He needed to get himself under control, needed to just focus on breathing—but the more he thought about how he needed to calm down, the harder it was to calm down, and his own breathing seemed very loud, echoing and filling his ears. He was already ruining this, everything was falling apart, he was—

Maka's hands settled on his cheeks, turning his face toward her, and her lips pressed against his.

He froze, stunned.

The kiss was firm and unexpected, like an electric shock jolting through his nervous system, lighting up every cell. The panic-fueling feedback loop of his thoughts short-circuited, and for an instant his mind was perfectly still and clear. He felt her soul flowing into his, warm and cool at the same time—felt it wrap around him, gripping him gently but firmly, quieting his fear.

And suddenly, just like that, he was okay.

The crushing pressure in his chest eased, enough for him to breathe again. She pulled back, and he gazed down into her eyes, dazed, and wondered where her power over him came from.

"You okay?" she asked.

He gave a little nod.

She smiled at him, took his hand, and kept walking.

Chrona stared down at his feet. He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could do more for her. She was always the one comforting him, the one making everything better. He wanted to do something that would make her happy. "Maka…what's your favorite food?"

"My favorite food? Let's see…" She tilted her head. "Well, I don't know what it's called. But Mama used to make me this soup when I was little. This potato soup with cut up hot dogs. It was very simple—she never cooked much—but I always loved it." She smiled, looking a little self-conscious. "I haven't had it for years, though."

Chrona clutched his arm. He could make something like that, but he knew it wouldn't be the same; she liked it because her mother had made it for her. Maybe he shouldn't even try. Maybe she wouldn't want anyone infringing on that memory. It might even make her sad, because it would remind her of someone who wasn't here anymore. Someone who had abandoned her.

Or was he just second-guessing himself, like he always did?

"Why do you ask?" Maka said.

"I just wondered." He decided to start looking for some recipes that night. He couldn't make it exactly the same, but maybe he could make something _like _it. He'd save that for a special time though.

"That reminds me," Maka said, "it's my turn to cook tonight. I should stop and pick up some hamburger helper."

Chrona turned his face aside to hide his automatic wince. "Um…why don't I cook tonight?"

"Oh no, I couldn't ask you—"

"It's okay. I mean…if I'm staying with you, I should do my part. Soul said that I should make myself at home there. So I should have a turn too. Right?"

She blinked…then a smile of understanding broke across her face. "Right."

Chrona's rigid posture relaxed, and he smiled shyly in return. He could pick up some ingredients at the store, he thought. He'd fix something nutritious, something that was more than carbohydrates. Maka and Soul probably weren't getting all their vitamins.

* * *

><p>"Wow." Soul stared at the warm, sauce-covered vegetable dumplings and asparagus on his plate. "This looks like real food. I mean, as opposed to what we usually have—"<p>

Maka frowned at him. "You're saying I'm a lousy cook?"

"Hey, you're a pro when it comes to mixing packets of powdered sauce with noodles. Your Easy Mac could make the angels sing. I'm just saying, every so often it's nice to have something that's not curry or box food."

"I h-hope it's okay." Chrona fidgeted in his chair. "But…if you don't like it, you don't have to eat it."

"Don't be silly," Maka said, "I'm sure it'll be fine." She lifted one of the dumplings with her chopsticks and took a bite.

Chrona watched her intently, his pulse thudding in his throat. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. For a moment she chewed in silence. Her eyes widened, and his heart lurched. Then she beamed at him. "This is really good!" She popped the rest of the dumpling into her mouth.

"Uh-hum." Soul had already finished his third. He set a plate on the floor for Blair, who was in her cat form. She dug in.

"Tch." Ragnarok tossed a dumpling into his mouth. "He never cooks this fancy for _me. _What's so special about you schmucks?"

"You hardly even chew your food, so you wouldn't appreciate the effort he put into it," Maka pointed out. She took a bite of buttered asparagus and closed her eyes, chewing slowly, as if to prove the point. "The way you eat, everything might as well be microwavable pizza pockets."

"Hey, don't dis pizza pockets!"

Soul ladled another helping onto his plate. "Damn, that's good. What's in this orange sauce?"

"I-it's just butternut squash puree with garlic and sage." Chrona poked at his own dumplings, blushing.

Blair pawed at Soul's leg, hooking her claws into his pants. "More," she purred. "Pretty please?"

Chrona watched them all eating and helping themselves to seconds and thirds, and a small, wobbly smile grew from one corner of his mouth. He almost wanted to start purring, himself. He felt…like he was useful. Needed. For so long, he'd only been able to feel needed by killing people.

Cooking, he decided, was more satisfying.

* * *

><p>After they'd all finished eating, Maka retreated to her bedroom with Chrona.<p>

He always seemed hesitant about coming into her bedroom. But she wanted to be alone with him, somewhere they didn't have to worry about Soul coming into the kitchen for a frozen burrito or Blair suddenly waltzing naked into the living room. That had happened the other day, and Chrona had started hyperventilating and hidden his head under a pillow. Maka had chased Blair into the bedroom and gradually coaxed Chrona out of hiding while he mumbled something about not knowing how to deal with naked people.

Outside the window, the sun drooled, sinking lower in the orange-stained skies. Late afternoon sunlight slanted in through the glass and spilled across the floor as they lay on the bed, on their stomachs, doing a crossword puzzle together. It was the sort of thing Maka would have done on her own, before she'd known him. Soul didn't have much interest in word games or puzzles. But it was easier—and more fun—with another person.

"Hm." Maka tapped the end of a pencil against her lower lip. "What's a seven-letter word for 'scholarly?'"

"Erudite."

"Oh yeah." For someone who spoke so little, Chrona knew a surprising number of words. She penciled it in.

"Maka…"

She looked at him. "Yes?"

His gaze met hers briefly, then flitted away. He fiddled with his pencil, turning it over and over in his fingers. "Nothing."

She studied his expression. There was something he wasn't telling her. She'd sensed it for awhile, now, ever since he first came to stay with them. She'd decided not to push, to just let him open up when he was ready, but the itch of curiosity was growing stronger and stronger. More than that, she was starting to worry. She didn't like the feeling that he was holding something back, even now. "It's okay, you know. Whatever's bothering you, you can tell me."

"It's nothing," he repeated, staring at the wall.

Her fingers tightened on the pencil. For an instant, she was tempted to peek. It had been so easy at the dance, slipping into his mind. He hadn't suspected a thing. She swallowed, throat dry. She could—

_No._ She shouldn't even be considering it.

She decided, just then, that she needed to tell him what she'd done. Once it was out in the open, she wouldn't be tempted to do it again. But then, he might not trust her anymore…

"Maka?" He looked at her with a small, worried frown. "Are you mad?"

She took a deep breath. "No. It's just…" She wavered. At this point, would confessing do any good? It might just make things more complicated. But how could she expect Chrona to tell her anything if she withheld truths from him? If she wanted his trust, maybe she needed to start being more open herself.

Maka set down her pencil and pushed the crossword puzzle book aside. "Awhile back, I did something," she said. "Something wrong."

The furrow between his brows deepened. "I don't think you would do a wrong thing, Maka. You're a good person. Whatever you did, there must have been a good reason for it."

His eyes were so earnest. He meant those words completely—and the realization gave her a strange, uneasy feeling. No matter what she did to him, even if she hurt him somehow, he would forgive her. Not just forgive her, but turn things around in his head so that _he _was the one at fault.

The uneasy feeling deepened. "It's possible for a good person to do something wrong, Chrona," she said quietly. "I'm not perfect. I make mistakes."

He bit his lower lip. He looked so young when he did that. Like a child. "What happened?"

She lowered her gaze, picking at the edge of one thumbnail. No secrets, she told herself. "At the Halloween Dance…when we were dancing together, I…I looked into your mind."

He drew in his breath sharply.

"I saw one of your memories," she said. "You were in a tavern. It was raining outside." She could recall it vividly, now, as if it were one of her own memories—the blood, the screams, the tears, the sense of utter hopelessness. "I'm sorry," she whispered without looking up.

His soft, unsteady breathing echoed through the room. "Y-you…were you disgusted?" he asked, his voice small and soft.

A small, sharp twinge of pain lanced through her heart. "No, I wasn't disgusted. Not with you. I was upset with myself, though, for doing something like that without your permission."

"I-it's okay," he murmured. "I don't mind—"

"You don't have to say that just because you think I want to hear it." She lay a hand on his back and rubbed up and down, feeling the little bumps of his spine. "I know it scares you. I can feel you shaking."

He bowed his head, hair falling in his eyes, but not before she saw the glimmer of tears. "I'm sorry. I just…there's so much ugliness in my mind. I did so many terrible things. I'm scared of showing those things to you. And…other things, too. But I shouldn't hide anything from you. I know that."

"You don't have anything to apologize for. Your mind belongs to you, Chrona. You shouldn't have to worry about anyone looking in on your thoughts without permission. Even me." She reached out to cup his chin, lifting his face. "I won't do it again. I promise. Okay?"

He gave a tiny nod. Still, he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Okay."

But this had shaken him, she could tell. He didn't blame her—he never blamed her—but she felt like she'd betrayed him, anyway. That guilty, uneasy feeling wouldn't leave.

"Chrona?" She rolled onto her side, facing him. "Listen. If I ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable or that you don't like, I want you to tell me. It's important for us to be honest with each other, even if it's something you think I don't want to hear. Promise?"

He was silent. He didn't look up.

"You'll promise, won't you?" The silence stretched on, and her chest tightened. Why wouldn't he answer?

* * *

><p>"Chrona?" Maka said again. Her voice was soft, gentle. Worried.<p>

Chrona's first impulse was to reassure her. To tell her what he knew she wanted to hear. But it would be a lie, and she'd just told him it was important for them to be honest with each other. He was trapped. He curled himself into a ball, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them.

"I don't know if I can," he whispered.

"What do you mean? Why not?"

Chrona hugged himself tighter. He didn't know how to explain something like this, didn't know how to put words to it in a way she would understand. Even now, she didn't fully comprehend how damaged he was, how the natural defenses that other people possessed didn't exist for him. He could face and defeat a kishin egg, but that was different. Physical threats were different.

"I don't want to make you upset or disappointed," he whispered. "I don't want to lose this."

Her brows drew together in confusion. "I'm not going to leave you, Chrona. You know that."

"I know that I _should _know that, by now. But I still…" A lump rose into his throat, and he choked it down. "I just don't want to displease anyone. If someone—you, or one of our friends—told me to stand on my head for an hour, or eat a bug or something, I'd probably do it."

"We wouldn't—"

"I know. But if you _did_." His cheeks burned with a dull heat. "When Black Star thought I was a girl, I couldn't tell him I wasn't, because I didn't want to embarrass him or tell him that he was wrong. I mean…it's different with Ragnarok because I've always known him and he can't leave me, but with most people, I just…can't say no. I can't push back. It's why I couldn't disobey _her _when she found me here. Even though I hated the thought of betraying my friends, even though it ripped me up inside, I still couldn't say no."

"That wasn't your fault, Chrona. She forced you."

"She didn't threaten me or hurt me or anything. All she had to do was give me an order, and I crumbled." He rested his forehead on his knees. "I'm just that weak."

"It wasn't your fault," Maka repeated firmly. "You spent your whole childhood being conditioned to obey orders under threat of torture and starvation. It's hard to say no when your heart feels that you're going to be punished for it, even if your head knows you won't be."

He closed his eyes, squeezing back tears, and nodded. "That's why." His voice was very soft. "That's why I can't, even knowing it's not the same here. With you, with anyone, I just...anything you wanted, I'd let you. Yes, it scares me that you went into my mind. But if you wanted to I'd let you do it again. I wouldn't try to stop you. Couldn't. My whole ugly past, all my secrets. Anything you wanted."

Their mingled breathing echoed through the silence.

Chrona opened his eyes and tried to smile. "I-it's okay, though," he said. "I trust you. I know you won't hurt me, so…everything is okay."

"It's not okay," she said. Her voice was quiet but firm. "I'd never hurt you on purpose, but that doesn't mean I won't make mistakes. I won't look in on your thoughts again, but I might do something else that bothers you or hurts you, even without meaning to. You need to be able to tell me when that happens. I need to know that you _can._"

He hunched his shoulders, curling himself into a tighter ball. "You told me to be honest with you," he said. "I don't know if I can. That's the truth. I'm sorry."

Another long silence followed. His heartbeat quickened. He didn't dare look at her face; he was afraid of what he'd see there. "Maka?"

"I'm thinking." She lay a hand on his back and began to rub up and down again. The knots in his chest loosened.

"What if you had another way of saying no?" she asked at last.

He looked up, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"Like a special word. Something you can say to me if I'm crossing any lines you don't want me to cross."

"Wh-what lines?"

"Anything. If I'm asking you too many questions that make you uncomfortable or…anything, really." She took his hands in hers, stroking his knuckles lightly with her thumbs. It still felt strange, being touched gently, as if he were something precious and breakable. "If I'm going too far and you want me to stop, all you have to do is say it. Would that be easier?"

He thought for a moment, rolling the concept around in his head. "Like when I punch Ragnarok?" he asked tentatively.

Maka blinked. "Eh?"

"When I just tell him to stop he never listens, but when he goes too far, I hit back, and he always stops right away. So…kind of like that? Except a word?"

For a moment, Maka looked like she'd bitten into a lemon, and Chrona wondered if he'd said something weird again. He was always doing that without meaning to. She gave him a slightly strained smile and said, "Um…yeah, something like that."

"What word should I use?"

"That's up to you. Pick one that means something to you. Something you'll remember."

He chewed his lower lip. It felt almost like a game, coming up with a secret code-word…but he knew it wasn't a game. This was something real; a promise between them. "It doesn't seem strange to you? That I need something like this?"

"It's not strange. And I don't mind. I just want you to feel safe."

Safe. What made him feel safe? Maka did…but he couldn't use her name, that would be too confusing.

Then it struck him. Maka seemed to realize at the same moment; she smiled and leaned her forehead against his as they whispered together, "Corner."

When she pulled back, Chrona was smiling too.

His gaze focused on her lips. He started to lean forward, then stopped, and once again, she closed the distance between them.

Their lips touched. Softly at first, so softly, in brief, fluttering little kisses, then more firmly. His breathing grew heavier. Their arms slipped around each other's waists. Maka's lips left his and trailed kisses over his jaw. He placed a kiss on her throat, marveling at how smooth and soft the skin felt.

Her hands slid down to rest against his hips, and he tensed. He'd never liked his own body. He worried what Maka thought of it. But she didn't seem to mind how skinny he was or how curvy his hips were. She kept running her hands over them, up and down his sides, over his shoulders and back. Her hands ghosted over his thighs, the softest brush of contact, but close, too close. He tensed, flickers of panic going off in his brain like little firecrackers. She withdrew, and the fear melted away.

Maka curled her fingers around his wrist and tugged his hand toward her mouth. She kissed the knuckles, one by one. His heartbeat quickened.

"You've got nice hands," she said quietly, "you know that?"

"I…I do?"

She nodded. "Your fingers are so long and graceful." She turned his hand over, studied the lines of his palms, and traced one with a fingertip. His skin warmed under her touch.

"I think your hands are nicer," he murmured. Maka's hands were small and slender, so soft but so strong. His own were large and awkward next to hers, yet they still looked too delicate to belong to a boy. Everything about him was in that in between space, as if he'd been left half-finished. "You're more…perfect."

She looked at him for a long moment. "I think you're wrong about that." She lowered her head, lips brushing against his fingertips. She kissed the tip of his forefinger and hesitated, looking up at him through her bangs—then her lips parted and closed around it, and he made a tiny, choked sound of surprise.

Green eyes lifted to meet his again, a hint of uncertainty in them as they scanned his face, judging his reaction. She must have found what she was looking for.

He watched, hypnotized, as she drew his finger deeper into her mouth. Her soft, moist lips slid along its length, and her cheeks pulled inward slightly as she sucked. Her teeth scraped lightly over his knuckle. Her mouth was warm and wet. So wet. It made him dizzy.

Chrona's heartbeat thundered in his ears. He gulped, watching with wide, dazed eyes. His other hand drifted up and started to play with her hair, then slid along the curve of her neck, his thumb brushing over her pulse. Her heart was beating so fast, her cheeks were flushed, and her green eyes were heavy-lidded—she had that look again, the look she'd gotten when she was kissing him, like she was drunk. Drunk on him?

His attention kept drifting back to her lips—those silky lips, a shade between beige and pink—and the way they looked, the way her mouth tugged, the pressure and heat, and he wondered…

No, no, he shouldn't, shouldn't let himself think about...

Memories, darting beneath the surface of his mind, like the half-glimpsed shapes of fish _(snakes they're snakes)_ swimming through a murky pond. Tiny cold needles of fear sliding through the hot haze of lust. Wanting, fear, wanting, back and forth and what was that word...

Ragnarok burst from Chrona's back, and he let out a strangled gasp. "You know that's not the part you're supposed to suck, right? You're not even _close._ Should I draw you a diagram or something?"

Maka pulled back, wide-eyed.

"Ragnarok!" Chrona wailed.

"What? I'm helping!"

Chrona whimpered in dismay, clutching his head. The heat from a moment ago had evaporated along with the memories, leaving only cold, sickly dread in its place. Why had Ragnarok chosen _that moment _to butt in? For the past few days he'd been mostly behaving himself, staying inside Chrona whenever Maka was kissing or cuddling him, and now…

Maka's face flushed a solid brick-red, and a vein stood out in her temple. She grabbed the book of crossword puzzles and threw it. It smacked into Ragnarok's face, knocking his head backwards.

"Agh!" He put both his tiny ball-like hands on top of his head and glared at her. "That really hurt, you bitch!"

"Good!"

Chrona huddled in a ball, hiding his face in his hands, his breaths coming in panicky little bursts. "I'm sorry, Maka, I'm sorry, I keep telling him not to come out when we're doing this!"

"It's okay, Chrona. It's not your fault." Her face was still flushed a bright red, and her green eyes blazed as she glowered at Ragnarok. Even if it wasn't directed at him, her anger was terrifying. "As for you…" She pointed at the Weapon. "Don't you have _any_ sense of decency?"

"Ha! You're gonna lecture me about decency when you were sucking on him like candy a minute ago? You nympho freak!"

"D-don't call her that!"

"Who would have thought Miss Prim and Proper was such a nympho, huh? She's as bad as that nudist cat chick!"

Though Chrona wouldn't have thought it possible, Maka's flush grew even brighter. The corner of her left eye twitched. Chrona was about to punch Ragnarok, but before he could, something in her seemed to snap. She lunged forward, grabbed hold of Ragnarok's neck—or where his neck would've been if he had one—and started shaking him back and forth, throttling him.

"Help, help!" He flailed his arms. "Murder! I can't breathe!"

"You little liar, you don't even _need _to breathe!" she shouted at the Weapon. She wrestled with him, shoving down on his head as if trying to push him back into Chrona's body.

Ragnarok cackled. "Hey Chrona!" he shouted gleefully, "ever wonder what kinda bra she wears?"

"Ragnarok, _don't!"_

Before Chrona could stop him, he reached out, grabbed her shirt and yanked it up.

Chrona stared, mouth open. A faint squeak escaped his throat.

Maka wasn't wearing a bra. A pair of small, perfectly formed breasts stared back at him. The nipples were as tiny and pink as pencil erasers, the flesh around them puckered and tight.

Maka's breasts. Maka's…

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and his vision blurred.

* * *

><p>Maka sat with her back pressed up against the bed's headboard and Ragnarok's hands fisted in her shirt. She couldn't move; she could only stare, shock-frozen.<p>

She'd gotten dressed in a hurry that morning. She hadn't bothered to put on anything under her blouse. Now, she sincerely regretted that decision.

She watched Chrona's eyes get bigger and bigger, watched his face flush nearly purple, then go deathly pale. She saw a little rivulet of black blood run from his nose. He made a faint _eep _in the back of his throat, a sound that was half squeak and half hiccup.

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed on top of her in a faint, his head falling against her chest. She stared, shock-frozen, at the mop of messy pink hair between her breasts.

Ragnarok released Maka's shirt. "Oops," he said, sounding almost sheepish. "Didn't plan that part."

Maka stared at him, the blood pounding in her head, sending flashes of red across her vision. Ragnarok took one look at her expression and quickly vanished into Chrona's body.

Maka took a deep breath, trying to calm her rage. She could deal with Ragnarok later. She tugged her shirt down over her breasts, gently eased Chrona onto his back, positioned him so his head was resting against the pillow, and wiped away his nosebleed with a tissue. She patted his cheek. "Chrona? Can you hear me?"

A faint moan escaped him, and his eyelids fluttered open. Slowly, his pale gray-blue eyes focused on her. "Maka…"

She gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm here. Are you okay?"

He blinked a few times. "Y-you…I saw…" He gulped and hunched his shoulders, holding his fists tight against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry—"

Apologies kept pouring from his throat. She kept telling him it was all right, but he just kept apologizing, until finally she silenced him with a kiss and his body went limp and pliant, the tension melting out of him.

She pulled back, and he lay staring up at her with wide eyes, his cheeks flushed.

Maka sighed softly. Her own face still felt too warm. "Well, that was fun." She gave him an awkward smile.

"I'm sorry he did that." Chrona looked so forlorn. "I won't let him do it again. I promise. I'll talk to him tonight, it won't happen ever again—"

"It's all right. I know you can't always control him." She stretched out next to Chrona. "But we'll figure something out." Even if she had to sedate Ragnarok, she added silently. She wanted to do more than kissing with Chrona at some point, and she _really_ didn't want to deal with Ragnarok giving sarcastic running commentary the whole time.

"Maka?" Chrona's voice sounded small and uncertain. "Do you hate Ragnarok?"

She hesitated.

Often, she wished Ragnarok wasn't there. She'd wondered, in the past, if there was any way to separate him from Chrona's body. At the time, she'd assumed that both Chrona and Ragnarok would jump at such an opportunity. Now, she wasn't so sure. Their relationship might be dysfunctional, but still, Chrona and Ragnarok had literally been a part of each other for most of their lives. For the first time, she wondered just where Ragnarok had come from, how he'd ended up in Chrona's bloodstream, what had happened to his family, if he'd ever had one. He had a soul, so surely he'd been human once, hadn't he? One thing she knew for sure, though; he and Chrona had both been raised by Medusa. They shared that bond of pain.

"He makes me angry sometimes," she said. "And I still don't like the way he treats you. But...I think there are probably reasons for him being the way he is. I don't hate him."

Chrona relaxed visibly.

"I just don't understand. You've said that when you hit back, he stops bullying you. So why don't you do that more often?"

Chrona's gaze shifted away, and he clutched his arm. "I don't know how to explain it. I'm just…used to it, I guess. If he stopped completely, I wouldn't know how to deal with it. Back when we lived with Medusa, he was the only one who…" Chrona trailed off.

But Maka knew what he'd been about to say. Medusa had rarely spoken to him and almost never touched him; hugs were a rare reward, dealt out when he performed some task especially well, and they'd dwindled away to nothing as he grew older. As a child, Chrona had been so starved for touch, for any acknowledgment of his existence as a person. Maybe Ragnarok's bullying was still better than nothing.

The thought made her soul hurt. She wrapped her arms around Chrona and pulled him close. Her fingers slid through his soft hair. "I love you so much," she whispered. "You know that, right?"

His breath caught, and his heartbeat quickened slightly. Slowly, his arms slipped around her. "I love you too, Maka," he murmured against her hair.

* * *

><p>The witch huddled in her lair, deep in the desert. It was little more than a cave, but anything more conspicuous would be risky. She rested her burning cheek against the cool stone wall as another wave of weakness swept over her.<p>

Things weren't going as planned.

She had expected this host to last awhile longer, long enough to see her plan through to fruition, but this body was already falling apart. The rot stung and burned and seethed within her flesh. Worse, she could feel it starting to eat into her mind. How much time had passed since she last slipped into Death City? She no longer even knew. Days and nights blurred together. There were moments when her own name eluded her.

But somehow, she never forgot _him_. His face, his name, remained etched into her crumbling brain in lines of fire. _Chrona._ A body fortified with black blood might be strong enough to resist this sickness. With her lab and research notes gone and her strength depleted, he was her last hope.

His eyes, those sad, pleading eyes, always hovered in her mind, mocking her.

He was never alone. Always, _she _was with him. She and her cursed Weapon. His friends were never far from his side.

The witch shuddered. They would kill her, if she got too close. She needed to get Chrona alone. If only she could get him alone, lure him out here…

It was so hard to think clearly. Angry purple fog filled her head. The rot, the rot, always the rot. Her fingers dug into the wall and dragged downward, leaving smears of blood and bits of flesh behind. She needed a new host, a fresh host. Anything would do. An animal, in a pinch, would at least get her to the city so she could find a human to possess. But she had to be careful not to attract attention to herself. So, so careful.

She crept out of her lair.

-To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

AN: I had a really difficult time with this chapter_,_ which is why it's been longer than usual since my last update. But here it is, finally._  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Dr. Stein stands in the forest cleaning, a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth. He surveys the row of students before him. Chrona stands next to Maka, fidgeting. They're at resonance practice…or something. He's not sure. He doesn't remember how he got here.<em>

"_All right," Stein says, "we're going to try something a little different today. Everyone take off your clothes."_

_Chrona's mouth falls open, and a faint squeak escapes him. Surely he didn't just say—surely Chrona misheard._

_But everyone is already undressing. They don't seem to mind. They toss their shirts and pants to the ground._

_Liz unbuttons her blouse, looking bored as ever. Patty twirls her bra over her head and throws it up into a tree, giggling. Soul casually strips off his boxers. Black Star stands proudly naked and grinning, hands planted on his hips, while Kid carefully lines up his socks and briefs on the ground. Even Tsubaki smiles as she unhooks her bra._

_Chrona stares at his shoes, breathing hard and fast, unable to look at any of them. When he glances up, he sees Maka stepping out of her panties. His gaze jerks away, and he gulps, face flushing hotly. He looks around, heart hammering, sweat trickling down his sides._

"_What's wrong, Chrona?" Stein asks._

"_I…" His gaze darts back and forth. "Wh-why are we doing this?"_

"_Clothes interfere with resonance," Stein replies matter-of-factly._

"_Go ahead, Chrona." Maka is smiling brightly at him. He can't look directly at her. His heart is about to punch through his ribs. He dares a quick glance at her shoulder and sees dappled sunlight playing on soft, smooth flesh. He stares, paralyzed with panic._

_They are all watching. All waiting._

"_What's the matter?" Soul asks._

"_N-nothing. I j-just…" His mind races, trying to come up with some excuse, as they all stand naked before him. How are they _okay_ with this? Why aren't they embarrassed?_

_But of course, their bodies are all normal. They have nothing to be ashamed of. They don't understand._

_He backs away, breathing hard, hugging himself. They all watch him in puzzlement._

"_Chrona…" He feels a hand on his arm and looks up to see Maka looking at him with sad, uncertain eyes. "What's wrong?" she asks. "Don't you want to be with me?"_

* * *

><p>Chrona woke with a start. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at the ceiling as reality slowly settled into place.<p>

Just a dream. Of course. Dr. Stein would never ask everyone to take off their clothes for resonance practice. Or at least, Chrona _hoped _he wouldn't.

He remembered dream-Maka's eyes, the wounded, bewildered expression, and a lump filled his throat.

It would probably be a long time before they did anything together—anything more than what they'd already been doing—but still…when the time came, how would he deal with it? He'd _fainted_ when he saw her breasts.

Chrona gulped. Ever since that had happened, the moment kept replaying in his head, and each time it did, his face burned with equal parts embarrassment and arousal. What would happen to him if she took off _all _her clothes? Could he really deal with that?

Overwhelming as it was, the idea of seeing her naked wasn't nearly as terrifying as the idea of her seeing _him _naked.

He closed his eyes and rubbed the back of one hand across his eyelids. Slowly, he sat up and unbuttoned his pajama top.

Before he went to sleep, he always laid out the next day's clothes. Recently, he'd bought a long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of black jeans. He was still more comfortable in the robe, but he thought Maka might like to see him in something different, at least once in awhile.

He slipped out of his pajamas, stood, picked up the shirt…and froze.

Blair was sitting on the floor in her cat form, looking up at him, her tail twitching back and forth. Chrona stood, completely naked, his jaw hanging open. He fumbled with his shirt, clutching it against his body, hastily covering himself, but it was too late. She had already seen him. A plaintive little moan escaped his throat. "B-Blair…"

"Hi," she said. She was looking at him with a quizzical, bright-eyed expression.

"Wh-wh-when did you get in here?" he squeaked. "I didn't hear the door open."

"I was in here all night," she said. "I slept under your bed. Maka's bed springs are too squeaky, and Soul snores. Your room is nice and quiet." She scratched behind her ear with one hind paw, then just kept staring at him. She tilted her head, as if she were looking at a fascinating bug she'd found under a leaf.

Chrona clutched the shirt tighter against himself, shaking. "D-d-don't look at me!"

"Why not?"

He trembled. If another human had been in the bedroom with him at that moment, he probably would've been having a full-fledged meltdown. Somehow, the fact that Blair was a cat made it easier. Maybe it was different for cats. Maybe they didn't care so much about things like this.

Still, he wanted to crawl into the corner and hide. "Just…p-please look away. I can't get dressed while you're watching."

"If you say so." Blair turned away.

Chrona hastily pulled on his shirt, a pair of black boxers, and the jeans, which felt uncomfortably close-fitting. Pants always felt either too loose or way too snug, which was one of the reasons he rarely wore them. Once he'd finished buttoning them, he looked up, clutching his arm. "Blair?"

"Mew?" She looked over her shoulder.

"Please don't tell anyone about this. About…me."

A sly smile crept across her face. She reached up with one paw and tilted the brim of her hat down. "Blair can keep secrets. For a price."

His stomach turned hollow. "A price?"

Blair leaped onto the bed and licked her lips. "Lobster," she said.

"Wh-what?"

"Blair wants lobster for dinner!"

"I'll get you some, I promise, just please, please don't say anything. Pretend this didn't happen. Okay?"

"Yay!" In a poof of smoke, she transformed into her naked human form and leaped to her feet. She jumped up and down chanting, "_Lob-_ster, _lob-_ster!" Her breasts bounced with each jump.

Chrona squeaked, covered his eyes with both hands, and backed away until his legs hit the bed. "Ch-change back into a cat! I don't know how to deal with you like this!"

"Aww, you're so shy!" She pounced on him, knocking him to the bed.

"L-let me go!"

Blair pinned his shoulders to the bed, smiling with sharp little cat-teeth. "Don't be afraid. Blair isn't going to hurt a cutie like you." She rubbed her cheek against his hair, purring. The movement squashed her breasts against his face, and the rush of blood to his head was so sudden and intense, Chrona felt dizzy. "Blair just wants to cuddle you!"

He whimpered. Where Maka's breasts were small and sweet, like peaches, Blair's were huge and intimidating and seemed like they were actively trying to suffocate him. A nipple poked his left eye. He struggled, but he couldn't push her away without touching her and he was afraid to touch a naked person.

Panic seized his chest in its iron grip. Blair kept rubbing her cheek against his hair, oblivious, as he gasped, straining against the pressure on his lungs. "Ragnarok_, _help me!" he cried out, his voice muffled by too much flesh.

Ragnarok popped out of his back. "Hey, Maka!" he yelled. "Chrona's being molested!"

Seconds later, Maka burst into the room, a spray bottle of water in one hand. Blair looked up, ears perked. Maka advanced toward her, her expression grimly determined, and squirted her with the spray bottle. "Off! Bad kitty! Get off him!"

Blair yowled and shielded her face with one arm. "Whyyy? I'm not hurting him!"

"Off!" Maka sprayed her again.

In another poof of smoke, Blair transformed back into a cat and raced out the door, hissing. Chrona huddled on the bed, shaking. Maka climbed onto the bed, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?"

Chrona nodded but remained curled into a tiny ball.

Maka hugged him and stroked his hair. "I won't let her near you anymore, I promise."

"Oh, come on," Ragnarok said, "is it really that traumatic to have some hot chick on top of you?"

"She's _scary_."

Blair peeked in around the doorframe. Maka looked up, and her expression darkened. She sprang to her feet, pointing. "You!"

Blair mewed in fear and vanished. Maka grabbed the spray bottle and stalked across the room, but Chrona stood and caught her arm. "Maka, it's okay. Ih-it's no big deal—"

"She can't just start sexually harassing someone whenever she feels like it! Blair, do you hear me?" Maka held up a fist. "Touch him again, and you'll get worse than the spray bottle!"

"Blair is sorry!" she called, peeking in again. Her ears drooped. "Blair won't do it again."

"And stop talking about yourself in third person. It's not as cute as you think."

"Meanie," Blair muttered. She stuck out her tongue at Maka, looked at Chrona, winked, and said, "Lobster, remember?" Then she vanished.

Maka turned to Chrona with a bewildered look. "Lobster?"

"N-nothing." He fidgeted, hands bunched into fists in his lap. Even if Blair had promised not to tell, what if she slipped up and told someone by accident? She wasn't the best person at keeping secrets. Oh God, what was he going to do? Chrona shoved the thoughts away. Maybe nothing would happen, maybe she'd forget all about it. "L-let's just go make breakfast."

"Chrona, is everything okay?"

He forced a shaky smile. "Fine."

* * *

><p>"You were kinda hard on Blair, don't you think?" Soul asked, slathering butter onto his French toast. "She's been hiding under my bed all morning."<p>

"Sulking, you mean." Maka stabbed a piece of sausage with her fork. "You're such a softie when it comes to her. You know that innocence is an act, right?"

"Well, she _is _a cat, remember? She tends to be a bit clueless about what's appropriate. I mean, it probably wasn't even sexual. Maybe she was just being friendly."

"Friendly, my ass. She was rubbing her boobs all over his face."

Soul shrugged. "If she was rubbing against him in cat form it wouldn't seem that weird, would it?"

Maka huffed. "She doesn't have _boobs _in cat form."

Soul glanced at Chrona. "You okay, man? You haven't said much."

"Hm? Oh…fine." Chrona gave him a distracted smile and stared down at his plate.

Maka took a bite of French toast. "This is really good," she said. "You're completely spoiling us, you know."

"Th-thank you."

"What did you call this bread, again? Brioche?"

A small nod. He poked at his own food, which he'd barely touched.

Maka frowned. Chrona had seemed preoccupied all morning. Was he still shaken by the incident with Blair? Or was something else going on?

She poked at a bit of sausage with her fork, rolling it around on the plate, and found herself thinking about yesterday. She wondered how far things would have gone if Ragnarok hadn't interrupted.

At the memory, her cheeks grew warm. She'd just done what felt right in the moment. She'd wanted to show him how much she liked his hands—to make him feel good—but maybe she'd gone too far, too fast. Was that why Chrona wouldn't meet her eyes?

She shifted in her chair, uneasy.

Maka had always prided herself on her restraint. Before Chrona, she'd never even been kissed. Despite what others probably thought, it wasn't that she was stuck up or obsessed with keeping herself pure. It was just…

Sexual attraction did funny things to people. It made them act differently. She'd seen her father ruin his marriage because he couldn't control his urges. She'd always sworn to herself that she wouldn't become like her parents. Mostly she'd been afraid of ending up like Mama, tied to some man who was only interested in _that, _someone oversexed and selfish. But Chrona obviously wasn't that kind of man.

She'd never expected to be the one struggling to control her desires. She always wanted to do more with him, to keep going, and she found herself doing things she'd never expected to do, as if she were becoming someone else. It scared her, a little.

"Hey." Soul poked her shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

She blinked. Had he just said something? "Sorry, I was just, um…thinking about that test we're having today."

Soul gave her an odd look. "The test is on Friday."

"Oh. Right." She stole another glance at Chrona. He still hadn't touched his food.

Ragnarok popped out of his back. "Hey, if you're not gonna eat that…"

Chrona handed him the plate, and Ragnarok upended it over his open mouth.

"You need to eat _something,_" Maka said. "Or you'll be starving at school today."

"I'll be fine," he mumbled.

Maka stuck her fork into a fragment of French toast and held it to his lips. "Just a bite?"

Chrona hesitated, then accepted it and chewed slowly.

Once they'd finished eating, Chrona carried the dishes to the sink and started washing them. She stared at his back, at his hunched shoulders. After a minute, she stood, approached, and started drying the dishes he'd washed. Soul went into the bathroom to gel his hair.

"Can I talk to you?" Maka asked.

"S-sure."

"In private, I mean."

He tensed, going very still, and she wondered why he suddenly seemed so nervous about the idea of being alone with her. He drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Okay," he said.

They went into Maka's bedroom—they always seemed to go there instead of Chrona's, though she wasn't sure why—and sat on the edge of her bed. Chrona clutched his arm, shoulders rigid. Maka bit her lower lip.

"I don't want to be like my father," she blurted out.

"What?" His mouth fell open. "Maka, you're nothing like him. Why would you even say that? You don't do the sort of things he does."

"I don't. But I wonder, sometimes. About myself."

"Wait…d-do you mean…" His voice wavered. "Do you…l-like someone else?"

"No!" She shook her head hard, pigtails whipping back and forth. "That's not what I meant! You're the only one I want."

He relaxed visibly, but the uncertain look remained. "Then why—"

"It's just…sometimes, I think I'm a very selfish person." Her fingers clenched on the blankets. "Lately, I know I've been kind of…aggressive. I want you to know that it's not all about sex. What I feel for you. If I've been pressuring you, if you want me to back off, I—"

He hugged her, so suddenly and tightly that she gasped, and buried his face in her hair. "Please don't blame yourself, Maka," he whispered. "Please don't think you're doing anything wrong. Please, please, please, please."

"Chrona…"

"I don't want you to feel sad." He hugged her tighter. "It's not your fault I'm always pulling away. It's just me, I'm broken, I'm a weakling, I get scared. It's stupid, I know, it's crazy that I'm like this. I'm sorry."

"It's not stupid." She pulled back, reached up, and held his face between her hands. "You don't have to apologize. Not for anything. If you don't want me to do things like that, then I won't. Just being with you is enough."

"Ih-it's not that I don't want it." His cheeks turned pink, growing warm beneath her hands. He ducked his head and tapped his forefingers together. "I liked that…what you did yesterday," he mumbled. "It felt good."

"It did?"

"Y-yes. I liked it a lot. I know I've been acting strange today. But that's not why."

Her hands fell away from his face. "What is it, then?"

"I don't know how to explain."

"Try?"

For a moment, he stared into space, not speaking. His hands were balled into tight fists in his lap. "What if there was something about me you didn't like?"

"I like everything about you," she replied, puzzled.

"But…if it was s-something you didn't know about me yet…"

"Chrona, what are you talking about?"

"I just wondered." His gaze remained fixed on the wall. "I mean…w-what if you found out I'd been keeping a secret from you? Would you be angry?"

Her pulse quickened. She sat up straighter, staring at him intently. Medusa was dead; Maka had killed her. Still, what if she was somehow wrong? "Chrona, is it _her_? Is she back? If anything's happened, I need you to tell me, now."

"It's nothing like that. Nothing dangerous. It's just…s-something about me."

The tension eased out of her shoulders, but the unease remained, stirring deep in her bones. "I don't understand," she said. "But if it's not something dangerous, then I don't think you have to worry about it. Everyone has a few secrets. Telling them is part of the fun of getting closer to someone. Don't you think?" She smiled.

He didn't smile back. He tilted his head downward, and his hair fell in his eyes, hiding them. "If it was something bad enough, would you stop wanting me?"

Maka cupped his chin and turned his face toward her. "Nothing could make me stop wanting you," she said firmly.

He stared at her, a strange, complicated look in his eyes. "How can you say that, not knowing what it is?"

"Because I love you. I know who you are. I've felt your soul. There's nothing that could change the way I feel about you."

His lips started to tremble. He pressed them together.

"Tell me." She gripped his chin gently, anchoring his head in place so he couldn't turn away. "It's bothering you, isn't it? It's been bothering you for awhile. I promise not to tell anyone else, if you don't want me to." Silence. "You trust me, don't you?" A pleading note crept into her voice.

"I do trust you."

"Then what's wrong?" More silence. "Chrona, _please_. I want to help you, but I can't help you if you don't let me in. Whatever it is, I promise it's not as bad as you think. Just tell me."

He shut his eyes and whispered, "Corner."

Maka released his chin and leaned back.

For a moment, she wanted to keep pushing. He was close to telling her, she could feel it. Just a little more, and he'd…

But she had promised. She'd told him specifically that he should use that word if she was asking too many questions or doing anything else that made him uncomfortable. "Okay," she said softly.

He sat, shoulders slumped, his eyes closed tightly. Tears glistened at the corners. "I'm sorry, Maka. I just, I can't, not now."

"Don't apologize." She lay a hand over his. "I'm the one who keeps pushing you out of your comfort zone."

He looked down at her hand. "Sometimes I need you to push me. If you didn't, I'd still be hiding inside that circle. _That's _my comfort zone. That tiny little space where I have nothing to do but listen to my own thoughts and go crazy. If not for you, I'd still be trapped in there, too afraid to step out."

"Maybe. But that was then. This is now."

He shook his head. "It's no different now. It was scary when you erased that circle, and it's still scary. But I need that from you. And it's okay…because it's you, and I trust you. But it's…sometimes, it's just too much, and I…I'm sorry. I'm not making any sense at all, am I?"

"I understand." Her fingers curled around his, squeezing gently. "That's why we have the word. I do want you to tell me your secret, but only when you're ready. I can wait. And I'm glad that you stopped me."

"You are?"

She nodded. "It makes me feel better knowing that you _can_, if you need to. This way, I don't have to worry about pushing you too far and hurting you by mistake."

He hid his face against her hair. "Maka…"

Maka rested her head against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She lay a hand against it, fingers splayed, over the place where his soul glowed softly inside his chest. "I like how you look in this," she said, running a hand over the soft cotton shirt. "It's cute."

"Th-thank you."

She continued to run her hand up and down his chest. His breath hitched, as if she'd accidentally touched a sore spot. "Sorry." She looked up at him uncertainly. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"

"It's nothing."

She hesitated, looking up at him. Her pulse drummed in her throat. It _wasn't_ nothing. That was obvious from the sudden tension in his muscles. "Can I see?"

Silence. She looked into his eyes and saw fear there. For a moment, she thought he was going to pull away again, and her heart sank.

Then he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. Slowly—with shaking hands—he lifted his shirt and pulled it off. He sat with his shoulders hunched, head bowed, the shirt balled up in his hands as he trembled. Her eyes widened.

She'd never seen him without a shirt. His chest was slim and pale, the sleek layer of muscle not quite enough to mask his too-prominent ribs. Her gaze moved over his slender shoulders, down to his dagger-thin waist.

Most of her attention, however, was on the huge scar in the center of his chest.

It formed a rough starburst pattern, darker than normal scar tissue—because of the black blood, she supposed. Another scar, thick and nearly black, ran across his stomach where Medusa's arrow had penetrated him. Maka's heart lurched at the sight, at the memory…but her gaze kept wandering back to the one on his chest. She wondered where this wound had come from. Some past battle?

As she looked closer, however, she realized that it wasn't a single scar, but countless tiny, thin scars, overlapping and crisscrossing, forming a complicated and delicate web. Scars upon scars. Hundreds of them, some old and faded and pale, some dark and vivid; a labyrinth of razor-thin ridges, dense in the center, thinning out toward the edges.

Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed, trying to work up some moisture.

She'd expected him to have scars. All Meisters acquired a few, over the years. But these weren't from battles. They looked like marks of physical torture. There were a few on his arms and wrists, too, but nothing compared to the mass of accumulated scar tissue on his chest. Where had they all come from? Had Medusa done this to him?

No, she realized. A few were still fresh, recent. There was a cut running across the left side of his chest—half-healed, the flesh around it still pink and tender—which looked just a few days old. Why would...

Realization hit like lightning, and she whispered, "Oh."

Chrona remained sitting on the edge of the bed, silent, motionless. A bead of sweat slipped down his neck.

The shock faded, and an ache spread through her chest. All those years of pain, fear and darkness, with no respite, no one to turn to for comfort…was this how he'd learned to cope?

She touched the cut on his chest, and he flinched. His shuddering breaths echoed through the silence. He bowed his head lower, hair hiding his eyes, cheeks flushed.

She rested her head against his chest, against the scars. "How long?" she asked quietly.

"Awhile." His voice was a half-audible mumble. "S-since I was nine or ten…I don't know."

She realized, distantly, that her hands were shaking, damp with sweat.

"N-not…not all the time," he added, "just when things were really bad." He kneaded the shirt in his hands. "The first time was by accident. I was slicing an apple in the kitchen. The knife slipped. It hurt, but it…relaxed me, somehow." His breathing filled the silence, shallow and unsteady. "D-Dr. Stein says it has something to do with endorphins. B-brain chemicals. I don't know. I didn't really understand everything he said."

His heart kept beating too fast against her cheek. _Thump-thump-thump._

"Once I came to Shibusen, I told myself I was going to stop," he said. "I t-tried. I really, truly did. I kept telling myself it would be the last time. I didn't want you to find out. I was scared."

"Why?" she whispered.

"I thought it would disgust you. Or make you sad." The shirt slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. He gripped his knees, knuckles whitening. Soft, shaky breathing echoed through the silence. "I never wanted you to know. B-but...if we're a couple now, I can't hide...things like this."

Maka tried to speak, but a lump had risen into her throat, cutting off air and voice. She just squeezed his hand instead.

"I don't want to be like this," he whispered. "I want things to be normal. I want to fight by your side and go to school and walk home with you, and when it's rainy I want to sit on the couch and watch TV with you and Soul and play board games and listen to you two teasing each other, and I want to make dinner for you and for you to tell me if something's good or if it needs more cinnamon or less salt. I want to hold you and kiss you and cuddle with you under the blankets. I don't want these scars to be part of it. I don't want my past. But I can't get away from it. It's all still there under the surface and it's just…it keeps coming back…and it's too _much _and I just, I need to let it out somehow, and sometimes it's late and everyone else is asleep and I can't breathe because of the memories and the pills aren't enough, but I don't want to bother anyone because you've already done so much, but I'm alone in the dark and I keep thinking about things, and it helps, a little, wh-when I…"

She turned her head, and her lips brushed against the scar over his heart. His breath hitched. "Pain helps?" Her voice was very soft.

He trembled against her. "It's sick, I know. It's gross and weird, and it m-makes me so ashamed…but back when I lived with her, it was the only thing…th-the only control I had. To control when I hurt, and how much."

Her fingertips wandered over his chest, the rippled landscape of scars. She closed her eyes, squeezing back tears. "I understand," she said.

"Y-you do?"

"Yes."

His breathing echoed through the silence, and she skimmed her fingertips over his ribs, over the hollows between them. His heartbeat echoed in her ear, and she could feel his soul fluttering and quivering in his chest. She found herself wishing she could reach inside him and cup her hands around it, the way she might shelter a candle flame from the wind.

Her hands slid down his back, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the roughness of scar tissue on the small of his back, where Medusa's arrow had gone through him; evidence of the sacrifice he'd made for her. It was the first time she'd seen this much of Chrona's body exposed, the first time she'd touched him like this, her palms on his bare skin. She'd touched his hands, his face, but he'd always kept the rest of his body carefully covered. Now she knew why. Or did she?

"Was this the secret you were afraid to tell me?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Part of it."

"There's something else?"

He nodded.

One thing at a time, she thought.

Maka rested her head against his chest. Her fingertips climbed the ladder of his spine, tracing the little bumps. She looked up at him. "Chrona?"

His eyes remained downcast. She took his face between her hands, lifting it. "If you ever start feeling like you need to hurt yourself again, come to me, and I'll hold you and talk to you until the feeling passes. Even if it's three o'clock in the morning, even if I'm asleep, anytime at all, just come to me. You don't have to do this kind of thing anymore. You don't have to face the memories alone…so don't. Okay?"

His chest hitched. He hid his face against her hair. "I shouldn't have showed you this. It was selfish of me. N-now you feel obligated…"

"No. I'm glad you showed me. I want to understand you. All of you, not just the parts that are easy to deal with."

"I already depend on you too much," he whispered. "You're always the strong one. You deserve someone who can take better care of you. It must be hard...b-being with someone like me."

Maka stood slowly. She grabbed a book from the nightstand, raised it, and brought it down softly on top of his head; the world's gentlest Maka Chop. _Thunk. _Chrona blinked.

"Don't say such silly things," she said.

He looked up at her with wide eyes.

"I love being with you," she said. "Every moment."

"B-but...I'm..."

She touched his pale lips, silencing him. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Chrona. I won't let you think otherwise, even for a second. If I was hurting myself and if you found out, you wouldn't be angry or disgusted. You would hold me and help me overcome it. You would give me all the love and patience and gentleness in the world. So that's what I want to do for you." She gripped his shoulders gently, and rested her forehead against his. "Promise me," she said. "Promise that you'll let me help you."

"I promise," he said in a small voice.

"Good." Maka straightened. More tears welled up before she could stop them.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with anxious guilt, his hands bunched into fists and held tight against his scarred chest. "Maka..." He reached up to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't ever do it again, I swear. Please don't cry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for." She pressed his hand firmly against her cheek. "And I'm not crying." She gave him a small, wry smile. "I never cry. Remember?"

A tiny, answering smile twitched across his lips. "R-right."

She stood like that for a long moment, just holding Chrona's hand to her face.

There was a knock at the door, and Maka gave a start.

"Oi," Soul's voice called, "we're gonna be late for school if we don't leave soon. You two ready?"

She took a deep breath, pulled back, and smiled. "Guess we should. Unless...do you want to stay home today?"

Chrona shook his head. "I'm okay." He pulled his shirt on. For a moment he sat, clutching his arm, looking shyly up at her through his bangs. "Maka? Thank you."

She looked into his eyes. "Thank you, too. For trusting me."

* * *

><p>They left the apartment, Maka and Soul walking to either side of Chrona.<p>

She had accepted it, Chrona thought. Just like that. His mind was still spinning.

He didn't know what had possessed him to show her. He hadn't planned to. He'd been certain that if she knew, she would be horrified, disgusted, even angry—or worse, heartbroken.

But she'd held him and tenderly stroked each scar.

Now, as they walked together, she looked over at him and smiled. As if this was just a normal morning. As if he hadn't just revealed what a sick, damaged person he really was. As if he hadn't just admitted that he'd been cutting himself for almost half his life. As if everything was okay.

Maybe everything _was _okay.

He gave her a tiny, shy smile in response. Maka threaded her fingers through his.

And he felt…happy. Giddy, as if his body weighed no more than air, as if he could float up into the sky like a balloon.

It was crazy to feel like this. He'd just shown her something really depressing and awful. But maybe that was why. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his heart...because it wasn't his secret anymore, it wasn't something he had to hide from her and keep locked away inside him. The sheer _relief _was like some powerful drug sizzling through his veins, incinerating his doubts and fears.

He felt like he could start skipping. Maybe he really _had _gone crazy. But he didn't care.

She looked so beautiful in the sunlight. Her eyes looked even greener. He wanted to tell her. So he did. "You're pretty."

She blinked. A slight flush rose into her cheeks. "Thank you."

Chrona kissed the top of her head. "You are." He nuzzled her hair, then the side of her neck. "And you smell so nice. You smell like rainbows…"

He kept nuzzling, rubbing against her like a cat, and she squirmed and giggled. "Chrona, that tickles!"

He wrapped his arms around her. "Can I tell you a secret?" He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, "I think you're the nicest, smartest, bravest, prettiest person in the whole world." He buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling deeper into the warm, inviting hollow, making her giggle some more. Her laughter was addictive. "Mmmmaka..."

Normally he would have been too shy to do anything like that outside of the apartment, or in front of Soul, but right now, he didn't care. Right now he just wanted to be close to her.

"I'm so lucky-lucky-lucky," he said, squeezing her tight. "You're so nice to me no matter what, you make me so happy. I want to make _you _happy. I want to do something for you. I want to go on a quest."

She blinked. "A quest?"

He bobbed his head. "I want to find something special for you. Like a moonbeam or a diamond the size of a cabbage, or-"

Ragnarok popped out of his back. "Chrona, are you _high_?"

Chrona ignored him and just buried his face in Maka's hair and breathed in her scent. He almost wondered if it _was _something chemical, if the latest addition to his cocktail of antidepressants was finally kicking in, or something—or maybe it was just the dizzying knowledge that he was here and alive and that Maka loved him, that she wasn't disgusted by his scars.

There was still the other thing, but in that moment, he could almost believe that she'd accept that too. Maybe everything _would_ be okay. Maybe even after all the darkness and horror, there could still be smiling and laughing and sunlight.

Laughing, he grabbed her hands and twirled her around in a circle. Overhead, the sun huffed laughter, and Soul stood watching them with a mystified expression while Ragnarok shouted, "Hey, _hey! _What the fuck are you two on and where can I get some?"

He twirled her around again and pulled her into a tight hug. "Chrona," she gasped, breathless and smiling, "what's gotten into you?"

"You," he said, pressing the tip of his nose to hers. "I'm in love with you. And I can say it out loud, and I don't have to hide it anymore. I love you, Maka."

She stared up at him, green eyes wide, little reflections of him inside them. Then her lips were on his and she was kissing him right there in the middle of the street, her arms around him, and for the first time in his life, he felt…fearless. It felt like he could fly to the moon, if he really wanted. But he wanted to stay right here on the ground, kissing her.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to see Soul standing there. "I hate to interrupt," he said, "but you have an audience." He jerked a thumb, pointing at something over his shoulder.

A group of about a dozen people stood before them, blocking the street. A flush rose into Chrona's cheeks, and he squirmed with self-consciousness. They were all staring. Well, he supposed two people kissing passionately in the middle of the street would be a reason to stare. But the more he looked, the more he realized that it _wasn't _that. The people didn't look like random gawkers.

They looked angry.

* * *

><p>Maka's heartbeat quickened as she stared at the cluster of men and women in the street. They were silent, their expressions grim as they glared at her.<p>

No, she realized. Not her. Chrona.

Her hands curled into fists, nails pressing into her palms. It wouldn't be the first time Chrona had gotten dirty looks in the streets, but for people to mob together like this…that wasn't a good sign. "What's their problem?" she said.

"I don't know," Soul replied. "Somehow, though, I don't think they're here to invite us over for dinner."

A chill skittered down her spine. "Maybe we should just turn around," Maka said. "Go another way."

"Look behind you."

Maka looked over her shoulder and saw another cluster of people blocking the street behind them. Her heartbeat quickened. There were buildings looming to either side, blocking every possible escape route. Of course, these people were just ordinary citizens; they didn't pose a physical danger to two pairs of Meisters and Weapons.

Still, Maka didn't like the feel of this.

She gripped Chrona's hand. "Stay close to us," she whispered.

"M-Maka…"

"Witch!" someone yelled behind them.

Maka spun around, glaring at the mob, but it was impossible to tell who had spoken. She gritted her teeth, her pulse pounding in her head. "Who said that?"

No one replied. Some people shifted uneasily and looked away.

"If you've got something to say, then say it to our faces!"

"Maka…" Soul placed a hand on her shoulder. "There's no point in talking to these people. Let's just go. If they try to stop us, we'll deal with them. But don't agitate them any more than you need to." His voice was low and tense.

Maka glared at him. She wanted to argue, but the look on his face was so serious that the words died in her throat. She simply nodded, gave Chrona's hand another squeeze, and kept walking.

Footsteps thudded behind them. The mob in front of them advanced. Tension hummed all around her—a sense of something about to explode, as if the air were filled with combustible chemicals. The two mobs kept drawing closer, forming a ring around them. Some of the people were pale and sweating, some flushed with anger.

"You mind letting us through?" Soul asked, keeping his voice casual. "We're just walking to school."

For a moment, nobody spoke. People shifted, looking at each other uneasily. Then one woman stepped forward and said, "That witch-child doesn't belong in Shibusen. We won't let him pass."

"That's right," a man said.

Chrona hunched his shoulders and stared at his feet.

Maka gripped his shoulder. "Look up," she said. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Slowly, Chrona raised his head. He was pale, his forehead bathed with sweat.

"Chrona _does _belong in Shibusen," Maka said, "and you can't stop us from going to school. What are you planning to do? Attack us? Or are you just going to stand around looking intimidating and hope that we'll slink home with our tails between our legs?"

The crowd glared and muttered. It seemed no one wanted to be the first to speak. At last, a man said, "We'll do whatever we have to do."

"Is that a _threat?_" She glared at him. "What's your name?"

He shifted, averting his gaze.

"Too cowardly even to name yourself? You people disgust me."

Chrona remained silent.

"Listen to me," she said, raising her voice. "You don't _know _Chrona. None of you do. You're all judging him based on what you've heard from other people. What right do you have?"

"We know he acted as a spy for Medusa," someone called from the back of the crowd. "Or is that a lie?" Silence. "Well, boy? I asked you a question. Answer me."

Chrona drew in a slow, shaky breath. "No," he said quietly, "it's not a lie."

Maka trembled with anger. She felt sick. Why wouldn't these people just leave him alone? "He was forced to! He never wanted to do it! If you people could just look beyond your stupid prejudices, you'd see—"

A rock whistled through the air. It struck her forehead with enough force to knock her head backward. She cried out and fell to her knees, cradling her head. Her palm came away wet with blood.

A hush fell over the street.

She looked up to see Chrona staring down at her, his eyes huge, his face dead white. His gaze fastened on the man who'd thrown the rock—a big, burly man with a heavy beard.

Chrona's pupils shrank to tiny points. His ragged breathing quickened. He held a hand out and said, "Ragnarok." The sword materialized in his hand. He lunged, and in an instant, the blade was at the man's throat.

The man stared at him, eyes huge, as the color drained out of his face. The tip of the sword just touched his Adam's apple. The crowd stood stone-still, as if they'd been turned to statues.

"I don't care what you do to me," Chrona said. His voice was flat and strangely calm, but it carried through the silence. "Whatever you can throw at me, I've been through things a thousand times worse. But if you ever lay a hand on her again—if _any _of you dare to hurt Maka—I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Silence.

"I asked you a question." Chrona pushed the tip of the sword a little harder against his throat. "Answer me."

"Yes." The man's voice emerged thin and squeaky. "I understand."

"Good." Chrona withdrew the sword. The man swayed on his feet. A moment later, he collapsed, gasping and clutching his throat, as if to assure himself it was still intact.

"I know you're all afraid of me," Chrona said in that deathly calm voice. "I know that's why you're doing this. I understand, because I used to be afraid of other people, too. Sometimes I still am. But throwing rocks at someone isn't nice." He smiled, madness dancing in his eyes—but it was controlled. Contained. "If something's bothering you, why don't you write a poem about it?"

The crowd backed off, edging away.

Slowly, Maka reached out and lay a hand on his shoulder.

Chrona's head turned. He blinked, his gaze focusing on her slowly. "Maka…" He looked around. He looked at the sword in his own hand. A moment later, it vanished into his body. "A-are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.

The crowd around them didn't move, didn't speak. Maka gripped Chrona's hand tightly and kept walking. "Let's go," she said.

Soul nodded grimly. They hurried toward Shibusen, Soul at Chrona's back and Maka walking beside him. Only when the crowd was well behind them did they slow their pace.

Chrona stared at the pavement, his breathing unsteady. "I'm sorry." He clutched his arm as he walked. His throat constricted as he swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was small and soft. "I just made everything worse, didn't I?"

"Are you kidding?" Maka said. "You were great."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool," Soul said, smirking. "That guy was about to piss his pants."

Chrona looked from Soul to Maka in surprise. "Y-you're not mad? About what I did?"

"Why would we be mad?" Maka asked.

"I threatened to kill someone."

"Those people were threatening _us._ Maybe now they'll think twice before menacing innocent passers-by." Maka's fingers slipped between his. "You stood up to them, but you didn't lose control." She squeezed his hand, leaned closer, and whispered into his ear, "I'm proud of you."

Chrona's cheeks turned bright pink.

Ragnarok sprang from his back. "Hey, what about me? I helped. Don't I get any thanks?"

"I'll buy you some gummy worms on the way home from school," Maka said. "How about that?"

"Tch. What do you think I am, a kid?"

"What _do_ you want, then?"

"Tequila."

She rolled her eyes. "You've never even had tequila. And you're too young to drink, anyway…I think. How old _are _you?"

"Thirty."

"That's silly, Ragnarok," Chrona said, looking up at him. "You're the same age I am."

"I am _so _older than you, pipsqueak!"

"I'll get you some gummy worms and some pudding. That's my final offer."

Blood still trickled from the small wound on her forehead. Chrona stared at it. He reached out and lightly touched her cheek, tilting her face toward him.

"Oh—this?" She smiled. "This is nothing. I'll have the school nurse take a look, but it's fine. Really. It doesn't even hurt—"

He pulled her into a tight hug. Maka stiffened in surprise, breath catching. Slowly, she relaxed into the embrace.

His arms tightened around her. "I'll keep you safe," he whispered into her ear. "No matter what."

* * *

><p>Later, in class, Chrona strained to focus on the lecture and take notes. But he kept thinking about what had happened. The pencil trembled in his hand.<p>

He'd come so close to killing someone. Sure, he'd stopped himself, but for a moment he'd _wanted_ to. Because that man had hurt Maka, his most important person. His gaze strayed over to where she sat, an open book in her hands and a small, square bandage taped to her forehead. She'd gotten the cut cleaned out in the infirmary earlier that day. The nurse had said it wasn't serious, but still, the sight of it made Chrona's insides go cold.

It was his fault, he knew. The mob had been after him. Even if he'd dealt with it, it still wouldn't have happened if not for him.

A little voice in the back of his head kept whispering, telling him that she would be better off—safer—if he just left Death City. But he knew that wasn't true. He knew Maka would be sad if he disappeared. He couldn't do that to her.

Still, the thought kept coming back.

* * *

><p>The witch crept through the streets of Death City. The sun hung low in the sky, wheezing.<p>

After a long trek across the desert, she'd discarded the corpse of her old, half-rotted host in an alley and wriggled out of its throat, onto the pavement. Shortly after, she'd found a homeless man asleep on a doorstep and lunged into his open mouth. He was under her control before he knew what was happening.

She didn't like taking male hosts—men's bodies felt so clumsy and awkward—but at this point, she couldn't be choosy. If the fate of her last few hosts had been any indication, this body would only last her a few days, anyway.

Everything hinged on Chrona. She had fanned the flames of the citizens' hatred and orchestrated the kishin egg's attack for a single purpose: to make his life here unbearable, to push him to his breaking point so that he would come to her willingly. Everything would be so much easier if he was willing. She'd wanted to wait a little longer, to let the seeds of her plan germinate, but time was a luxury she didn't have.

Now, she just had to find someone to kill.

As luck would have it, she spotted a young woman—scarcely more than a girl—walking alone, her purse swinging at her side. She was dressed too scantily for the cool weather. A prostitute? No, she didn't have that street-hardened look. Just some girl.

The witch reached beneath her cloak, and her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife nestled against her hip. She approached in brisk strides. The girl stopped and turned toward her, lips parted in surprise.

"You picked an unfortunate night to go for a walk," the witch said. She pulled out the knife.

The girl's eyes widened. Before she had time to scream, the blade slashed across her throat, silencing her forever.

The witch stared down at the bloodstained corpse for a moment, swaying back and forth. She crouched, rummaged through the girl's purse with her clumsy male hands, and found a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen. She scrawled her message. Her lips shaped the words of a spell, then she stuffed the note into the corpse's mouth. This wasn't a highly traversed street, but still, the body would be found soon enough.

A dull burn seized her gut, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach and gasping. She gagged, eyes bulging, mouth opening wider and wider as she coughed, until finally, she squeezed herself out of the man's mouth and hopped away. The hopping seemed wrong somehow, but her head was too clouded to make sense of it.

Her host swayed a moment longer, then collapsed to the street.

* * *

><p>On the way home, Chrona bought the biggest lobster from the tank in the local grocery store, emptying out his meager savings in the process. A deal was a deal, after all.<p>

After dinner, he murmured that he didn't feel well and was going to his room to take a nap. He retreated into the bedroom, shut the door, and curled up under the covers, hugging his pillow.

Ragnarok settled atop his head. "Stop moping already. Do you really care what a bunch of stupid schmucks think? Those are the kinda people who just want someone to hate. If you weren't around they'd be hating someone else."

"It's not that." He hugged his pillow tighter. "I don't care what those people think about me. Not anymore. But I don't want Maka or any of my friends to get hurt."

"They can take care of themselves."

That was probably true, but it didn't stop him from worrying. He stared at the wall. "Why is this happening? I mean, I know a lot of people don't like me, but this is the first time they've ever done something like that. Why now?"

"Beats me. I'm going to sleep." Ragnarok vanished into his body.

Chrona hid his face against the pillow. He tossed and turned, kicked off the sheets, started to shiver, and pulled them over himself again.

He knew he wasn't going to fall asleep. Not tonight. His thoughts kept turning in circles.

Inevitably, they turned to the thing he'd been trying not to think about. He stared down at himself. He hadn't bothered to change into his pajamas that night; he was still in his t-shirt and boxers, his feet bare. "Ragnarok?"

"What?" he growled.

"Do you think she'll still want me? Wh-when she…"

"This again?" He sighed in annoyance. "You already showed her the scars. This isn't any worse than that, is it?"

"Yes, it is. It's worse." A part of him wondered if he was just being paranoid, if maybe it wasn't as big a deal as he thought. But most of him knew better.

"Well, you're gonna have to tell her sooner or later," Ragnarok said. "Might as well get it over with."

Chrona sat up slowly. He huddled on the edge of the bed, looking out the window at the grinning moon, the blood dripping between its teeth. He hugged himself and stared down at his bare feet. "I don't want to lose this…_ow!"_

Ragnarok yanked on his hair. "I swear, if you keep pissing and moaning, I'm going to whisper 'angry bees' in your ears over and over while you're asleep so that you dream about angry bees."

"Don't do that! I don't know how to deal with angry bees."

"Then just fucking tell her."

Chrona slumped, his head sinking into his hands. He knew Ragnarok was right. There was no point in putting this off.

But that didn't make it any easier.

After awhile, he heard a soft knock on his door, and Maka's voice called, "Chrona?"

His heart nearly punched a hole through his ribs, and he started to shake. Automatically he nodded his head before remembering she couldn't see him through the door, and he felt like an idiot. The tip of his tongue crept out, moistening dry lips.

"C-come in."

The door eased open. Maka stood there. She was in her pajamas—blue and white striped pajamas—and the sight made him a little dizzy.

"I just wanted to check on you," she said. "I was worried." She stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, small, even white teeth pressing into her lower lip. "Is everything okay?"

He took a deep breath. He'd made up his mind. He was going to do this. The longer he waited, the worse it would be, and it wasn't fair to her.

"M-Maka...can we talk?"

-To be continued


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Chapter 13**

AN: I agonized over this chapter quite a bit more than I have any previous one, but despite lots of editing, it's still ridiculously long and unwieldy. I considered chopping it in half, but it's basically one long continuous scene, so I don't know if that would work.

Anyway...I try to avoid writing long author's notes, but I feel like this deserves a proper warning.

First off, there will be a lot of explicit adult content. That's right, we're entering lemon territory. If you're not comfortable reading that kind of thing, you can probably skip this chapter and just pick up with the next one. You should be able to fill in the blanks.

Second, as lemons go, this one is fairly unconventional. I don't want to give anything away, but I can tell you it won't be the sort of scene you'd find in the average romance novel. It may not be everyone's cup of tea. It will, however, be loving and consensual.

Proceed with an open mind.

* * *

><p><em>Can we talk?<em>

At those words, Maka's pulse quickened. Chrona sat huddled on the edge of the bed in his black shirt and boxers, Ragnarok resting atop his head. "What is it, Chrona?"

"I…th-that is…" He fidgeted, his gaze darting back and forth as he pressed the tips of his forefingers nervously together.

Ragnarok leaned down and hissed into his ear, "Don't puss out, damn it." He punched the top of Chrona's head, making him wince, then vanished into his body. Chrona hugged his knees to his chest.

She stepped into his bedroom, eased the door shut behind her, and sat next to him on the bed. "You wanted to tell me something?"

He kept tapping his forefingers together, his gaze shifting back and forth. "Yes."

She waited. Silence. "Is this that other secret you mentioned before?"

A small nod. Another moment of silence stretched on. He clutched his arm, gripping so tightly she wondered if his fingers would leave bruises.

Maka waited, biting her tongue. He seemed to be mentally preparing himself. Asking him questions probably would just rattle him more.

At last, Chrona took a deep breath. "I'm not…normal."

Those words didn't illuminate much. Of course he wasn't normal, but she'd always known that, and it didn't much matter to her. The black blood, his half-witch heritage, the strange little creature living inside him—in spite of it all, he was still Chrona, timid and gentle, with frost-blue eyes and a smile she would cross oceans and fight armies for. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He hunched his shoulders, curling in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. She'd never seen him in just a shirt and boxers before. He looked vulnerable with his long, slender legs bared. A few scars marred the smooth, pale skin, and it occurred to her that until this morning, she'd never even seen his legs uncovered. "I mean…m-my body."

"There's nothing wrong with your body."

"Something I haven't showed you."

Maka frowned, confused. She'd already seen everything from the waist up, so that meant…

Was he talking about…that? But what could he mean? What could be so different about it? She knew he _had _one. She started to reach out, but he flinched when her fingers touched his shoulder. She drew back, surprised. "Chrona…"

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she said.

He folded his arms atop his knees and bowed his head. "I just…I keep wondering where the line is. How much you can accept before you pull away." His voice had grown very soft. She had to strain to hear him. "I never expected to get this far. I thought I was so lucky just to be friends with you, and then I thought I was so lucky that you would ever look at me as more than that, and now…" He trailed off, his forehead resting on his folded arms. "I keep showing you things. Pieces of myself I never expected to show anyone. And you just keep accepting everything. But there has to be a line somewhere, something about me that you can't accept. I'm afraid that this is it. This is the line."

"It can't be that bad," she said. But his words had shaken her, all the same. Maka steeled herself. This was Chrona. This was the boy she loved. "Whatever it is, it won't change how I feel about you."

"How can you be sure?" he whispered.

"There's nothing about your body that could stop me from loving you." Maka interlocked her fingers with his and leaned in to kiss the corner of his eye. His eyelids fluttered. "We're in this together," she said. "This is our journey. Whatever you're about to show me is the next step, and it's a step we'll take together…and the step beyond that, too."

He closed his eyes.

"Tell me," she said, her voice softening.

He opened his mouth. His lips trembled. "I…I'm…" His lips moved soundlessly for a moment. His breathing sped, coming in shallow, rapid pants.

Maka rubbed his back. "Breathe."

He nodded and closed his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, then another. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a faint squeak. He hugged his knees tighter against his chest. "I can't." He sat, his head bowed, bangs falling over his eyes. He sounded close to tears. "I'm sorry. I thought I was ready, but I don't think I can say it."

Maka was silent a moment, thinking. She wondered if it would be wrong to push, if she should just wait. But they'd come this far. "If you can't tell me…then show me?"

Chrona's shoulders went rigid and started to tremble.

Maka took his hands and ran her thumbs lightly over his knuckles. "It will be okay. I promise."

Still, he didn't look up. He stared down at their joined hands and drew in another slow, shaky breath. "Can we…t-turn off the lights? I can't get undressed with the lights on."

"Okay."

Chrona stood, crossed the room, and flicked off the light switch, drowning them in darkness. Maka sat on the edge of the bed, eyes straining, but she couldn't even make out the outline of his form. Her own breathing seemed very loud in the silence. Her heartbeat filled her ears. Then she heard another sound—a faint rustle of cloth.

Chrona was undressing.

She willed her eyes to adjust, but the room remained pitch black. She heard the whisper of cloth against skin as his shirt slid off, the snap of elastic as he pulled off his boxers.

The sounds stopped, and then there was just his rapid breathing echoing through the darkness.

"Chrona?"

"I'm trying. I'm trying to make myself turn the lights on. But I don't know how to deal with being naked in the light."

"Would it be better if we kept them off?"

"B-but…"

"I don't have to look." She swallowed, mouth dry. "If it would be easier, I can just touch."

He drew in his breath swiftly. Her heartbeats dropped into the silence, like stones falling into a bottomless well.

"I'm going to lie down," Maka said. "Under the sheets. You can lie down next to me, if you want. It's up to you." She stretched out on the bed, on her side, and pulled the sheets over herself.

For a moment, there was silence. Even his breathing had stopped. He exhaled a gust of breath, as if he'd been holding it in.

Floorboards creaked faintly under his approaching footsteps. Bedsprings squeaked as he climbed onto the bed…then he slid under the sheets next to her. Her stomach flip-flopped.

Chrona was in bed with her, naked.

She started to reach out, then stopped. "May I…?"

His hair brushed against her forehead as he nodded.

She ran a palm over his shoulder. It was sharp and thin, leanly muscled. Quick, shuddering little breaths echoed through the room as she slid her hand down his arm, feeling the ripples of scars underneath her fingertips. She traced the V-shaped hollows of his collarbones.

Her palm slid lower, over his slim, flat chest, the maze of scars sprawling across his pectorals. Her fingertip grazed the tiny bud of a nipple, and he drew in his breath sharply.

Lower, over his ribs, the hollows between them. She knew how strong he was—she'd seen his power in battle—yet his body always felt so fragile. She ran her hand down his back, over the tiny bumps of his spine.

Lower still. Her hand slid down the inward curve of his waist, over one narrow hip, one smooth thigh. He quivered under her touch. His breathing was inching toward hyperventilation.

She paused to rest her forehead against his. Her hand drifted back up to curl around the nape of his neck. "Chrona, may I touch your soul?"

She heard the click in his throat as he swallowed. "Yes."

She matched her wavelength to his and let her soul flow into him, through him. His rapid breathing slowed. For a few minutes, she just stroked his hair, listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat, until it was beating in time with hers, slow and steady. Her fingertips massaged his scalp in small, gentle circles.

She kissed his cheek. Her hand slid down his side again, and her fingertips glided over his smooth, slightly concave stomach. She felt the muscles contract. A moment later, her fingers brushed against…something else.

He twitched. His breathing sped again, and he pressed his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She could feel him blushing, his cheeks burning almost as hot as the flesh beneath her fingers.

Maka held her breath. Slowly, very slowly, she slid her fingertips along the length of his sex, from its base to the flared head. It was long and sleek—and growing harder, in spite of his obvious fear. She curled her fingers around him, and he pulsed in her hand, as if she held his beating heart. A small sound escaped his throat, a sound which could have been pleasure or pain. His breath was hot and rapid against her neck.

There was nothing wrong with him. Why had he said he wasn't normal?

But then, there was more.

A thought flashed through her mind—that she would find only a scar, a mark of something that had been taken. _Would Medusa really have…oh God, please, hasn't he been through enough?_ Her stomach turned hollow, and her heart wrenched.

A part of her wanted to ask. But she knew that making him say it would only cause him more pain.

She released him. Braced herself. Her hand moved lower, between his smooth slim thighs, until she felt the downy curls of pubic hair against her fingertips, the hot flesh beneath…

Maka froze, her mouth open.

It wasn't a scar.

Her hand remained motionless, palm resting lightly against the paradox between his legs. He was shaking so hard. His ragged breathing echoed through the silence.

"It's okay," she whispered.

His breath hitched.

"It's okay," she said again. She rubbed a hand slowly, gently up and down his back. More than anything, she was aware of how vulnerable he was in that moment. His secret, the thing he'd been so terrified to show her, was exposed; she was touching it now. One wrong word would shatter him.

"Maka…I…" His voice wavered.

"It's okay," she said a third time. Her heart thudded hard and fast against her sternum.

She needed to be sure. Needed to know that this was what it seemed, that she wasn't somehow misunderstanding. Carefully, gingerly, she explored the damp folds with her fingertips. His breath hissed between his teeth. She stopped. "Does it hurt?"

"N-no."

Maka took a deep breath.

This was Chrona. He was the same person as before. Nothing had changed; this had been here all along, she just hadn't known about it until now. She hesitated, looking up at him in the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted enough that she could see the faint outline of his face, the moonlight from the window reflected in his eyes. Tear tracks shone on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"I never told you. I thought…at first, I didn't think you'd ever feel the same way I did, so I thought it wouldn't matter, because you'd never have to find out, but then we…and…" He bowed his head, hiding the twin glints of reflected light. "I didn't know how to tell you. But I know that's no excuse." His voice was thick, choked. "I've been lying to you all this time."

"You never lied to me, Chrona."

"I let you think that I was…that I…"

"Did you think I'd be disgusted?"

Silence. Then, very softly, "You're not?"

"No." She hadn't had time to untangle her feelings yet, but disgust wasn't one of them; she knew that much. "I'm a little surprised, that's all."

His unsteady breathing filled the hush that followed. "You thought I was a boy. A normal boy. I'm not even a girl. I'm not anything."

She felt as if she were standing on unstable, shifting ground. What was the right thing to say, in a situation like this?

Deep breaths, she thought. They were on this journey together; they were explorers, they were linked souls. "What do you feel like, in your heart?" she asked.

Another long pause. When he finally spoke, his voice was halting and unsure, as if he were answering the question for the first time. "Wh-when I was little, I always thought I was a boy. It wasn't until I got older that I learned I was…different." More silence. "Witches don't usually have babies with normal humans. And when they do, their children turn out…wrong. That's what she told me. It hurt, but it was just one more thing. Just one more way I wasn't like everyone else. I didn't think anyone would ever want to be with me like this anyway, so I didn't think it mattered. I…I _feel _like a boy, but…"

She placed a hand over his heart and rested her forehead against his. "Then that's what you are."

Chrona's breath hitched. After a moment, he murmured, "Is it really that simple, though?"

"You're you, Chrona. Who you are is who you are in here." She gently tapped his chest.

"B-but…I…" He hid his face against the curve of her neck. "I want to be what you really want. I know this isn't…I kn-know you don't, that you're not…" He gripped her shoulder, fingers pressing into her skin. "It's asking a lot for you to accept something like this. And there's already so much."

"I told you before, there's nothing about your body that could change my feelings." Her hand found its way into his hair and slid through the soft, messy locks. She rubbed his scalp in small circles. "Chrona? I want to turn on the lights."

His body tensed against hers.

"I want to look at you in the light."

His heart beat hard and fast against hers. He was terrified; that was obvious. But slowly, he nodded.

There was a lamp next to his bed. The light would be softer, less harsh than the ceiling bulb. She reached over, fumbling for the lamp cord, caught it in sweat-damp fingers…and hesitated.

It was one thing to feel it in the dark. It was another to _see _it. Sight would make it real. But that was why she needed to do this.

She pulled the cord, and light filled her eyes. She blinked, squinting. The lamp wasn't bright, but after total darkness, it stung. She waited for her eyes to adjust. Then she looked down.

Chrona was stretched out on the bed, naked, hands fisted tightly on the sheets, eyes squeezed shut.

Her gaze moved from his face to the dark, sun-shaped tangle of scars on his chest, over his smooth stomach. She steeled herself and looked lower. His thighs were pressed tightly together, hiding what lay between.

"Let me see," she said, gently but firmly.

His eyes remained tightly closed, but he parted his legs, just a little.

Her hands settled on his pale thighs and gently pushed them apart, exposing him completely. For a moment, she just stared.

It looked…right. Natural.

She'd already accepted it, but still, it was a relief to find that it looked so right.

Her thumb slid along the silk-smooth skin of his inner thigh and stopped just short of the tender cleft, half-hidden by a tuft of dark pink curls.

Gently, she moved his maleness aside and touched the downy-haired lips beneath. His breath caught. His erection had faded when she turned on the lights, but he started to stiffen again as she trailed her fingertips over the soft outer folds. Carefully, she opened them.

The flesh inside was darker than her own, tinged a deep, dusky red by the black blood flowing within—like a rose—but aside from that, it didn't look much different from hers. She stared into him, hypnotized.

Slowly, she withdrew her hands, pulse drumming in her throat.

He shivered on the bed, his eyes still shut. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, "I should have told you there was something wrong with me, I b-b-betrayed you by hiding it this long, but I thought—"

"Chrona, you didn't betray me. There's nothing wrong with you."

His fingers tightened on the sheets. "Please don't say that, Maka, don't say things you don't mean. It's too cruel." His eyes were still clamped shut. Was he afraid to look at her? Afraid of what he would see in her expression? "D-don't…don't say that just because I want to hear it."

"Chrona, please. Please open your eyes."

He opened only one eye, at first—just a crack, so she could see only a hint of pale blue-gray peeking out at her through his eyelashes.

She stroked his thigh. "I'm not just saying things. I mean it. There's nothing wrong with you."

Both eyes opened. His brows knitted together. "I don't understand." His voice was small, soft, hesitant. "I'm deformed. I'm a freak."

"You aren't a freak. You're just different. Being different isn't always a bad thing." She stretched out next to him on the bed. One hand settled onto his chest, over the scar. "When you were little, before you found out you weren't like other boys, you didn't think there was anything wrong with your body, did you?"

"No. But…" He trailed off.

"She was the one who gave you that idea. Wasn't she? But she was wrong." Maka smoothed his hair. "You're perfect."

* * *

><p>For a moment, Chrona just stared, his eyes wide and dazed.<p>

She wasn't disgusted. She wasn't angry. She wasn't even disappointed. Her green eyes were warm and tender, as if nothing had changed.

Earlier, he had promised himself that no matter what happened, no matter how Maka reacted, he wouldn't let himself cry…at least, not in front of her. He owed her that much. But when he saw the acceptance in her eyes, a hot lump rose into his throat, and tears welled up.

He bit his lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and shut his eyes tight. He would not cry.

She laid a hand against his back and pulled him closer. "Let it out."

Chrona buried his face against her shoulder. For a few seconds longer, he tried to hold onto his control. His chest hitched once, twice. Then, at last, he let go.

His sobs were almost silent, but they shook his body in violent spasms, and they hurt coming out, like little pieces of glass catching in his throat. With each one, the aching pressure in his chest eased a little more…as if all this time, the pain had been stored up inside him, and now it was finally escaping.

She stroked his hair with gentle, warm fingers. Her pajamas were soft against his cheek.

Chrona's face remained hidden against her as his tears dampened her shirt. "I was so scared. I th-thought…I thought you'd hate it."

She hugged him tighter. "I could never hate anything about you, Chrona."

"Why?" he whispered. "Why are you so accepting?"

"I'm not."

"Y-you…"

"I'm not an accepting person. I'm very fussy and demanding. Ask anyone." She tucked a finger beneath his chin and lifted it. She was still smiling, warm and open and gentle, like sunlight touching his face. "You're just very easy to love. I can't help myself."

Chrona stared.

He'd never understand it, even if he lived to be a hundred. But maybe that was all right. Maybe it didn't have to make sense, as long as he knew it was real.

He hiccupped and rubbed tears from his eyes with one fist. Then he drew in a deep breath, bringing himself under control, and gave her a wobbly little smile. "I won't cry anymore. I promise."

She brushed a few locks of messy pink hair from his face and kissed the corner of his smile. "It's okay."

For a few minutes, they just held each other. She rubbed his back, a steady, soothing motion. After a little while, he started rubbing hers too. His skin tingled with the strangeness of being naked so close to her. A pang of arousal made him press his thighs together, but he did his best to ignore it. Right now he needed comfort more than anything, needed the reassurance of her touch. His heart was still beating too fast, and a nervous tightness suffused his chest. Yet somehow, in spite of that, he felt okay.

At last, Maka pulled back. She propped her cheek on one hand, elbow resting on the bed, and looked at him. "Suddenly, I'm feeling a little overdressed."

His gaze shifted back and forth; suddenly, he couldn't look directly at her. "Do you want me to put my clothes back on?"

There was a brief silence, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong. "M-Maka?"

"I just meant…you showed me your body. You were willing to trust me that much. So it seems only right."

"You…you want to? I mean, y-you don't have to—"

"I want to."

Chrona's breathing sped.

Of course he'd wondered what she looked like under her clothes. He'd tried very hard _not _to, because even imagining it somehow seemed wrong, but sometimes he couldn't stop the images that flashed through his head.

Still…if they were _both_ naked, would that mean…

"We don't have to do anything," she added. "Not if you don't want to."

His blush grew hotter. "Y-you really wouldn't mind? T-taking off…"

"I wouldn't mind." She looked down at herself and ran a hand down her pajamas. "Right now, these clothes seem like barriers. I want to be closer to you."

His mouth had gone dry, his palms damp. He looked into her eyes. "Okay." The sound of that one simple word falling from his own lips made Chrona's stomach flutter. Even though she'd offered, a part of him still squirmed with guilt at the idea that he'd just told Maka to strip for him.

She undid the first few buttons of her pajamas. She paused to take out her pigtails. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, around her face.

Chrona watched her, his eyes huge. He didn't often see her with her hair down. It shone softly in the lamplight. _Blonde_ wasn't the right word, he thought. _Blonde _didn't capture all the subtle little shades, all the honey and wheat and sunlight.

She started to undo another button, but she stopped when he whispered, "C-can I?"

She looked at him, her mouth open slightly.

Had he really just asked that? A burst of tingling adrenaline washed over his brain, and his heart pumped faster, but before he could panic, she nodded.

He sat up, legs curled beneath him. He bit his lower lip and undid the second button, revealing a little more of her smooth, cream-colored skin. He fiddled with the third button, his gaze meeting hers again, as if asking whether it was okay to keep going.

She gave him another little smile. "Not going to faint again, are you?"

Her tone was light and playful, but his face burned like a torch as the embarrassment of that moment rushed back. He hung his head.

"Oh, Chrona, I didn't mean…I'm sorry." She took his hands in hers and kissed his palms. "I was just teasing."

"I-it's okay." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I won't faint. Not this time. I'm ready." He undid the button, and her top fell open.

The sight hit him like a tiny, painless electric shock. But the shock faded quickly.

"You don't think they're too small, do you?" Her tone was still light, as if she were making another joke, but he heard the undercurrent of anxiety.

"No," he whispered, staring. "They're not too small."

A subtle tension eased out of her shoulders.

He slipped off her pajama top. His fingers grazed the waistband of her pants, and he stopped again.

"Go ahead."

His thumb slipped beneath the elastic waistband. "A-are you wearing anything…beneath?"

A brief pause. "No."

If he hesitated, he'd lose his nerve. Chrona gathered his resolve, like a swimmer deciding to stop dabbling his toes in the water and just take the plunge. He hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of her pajama pants and tugged them down.

He looked at her, at the juncture between her thighs, the triangle of dark golden curls. His vision blurred. For a moment, he felt lightheaded and weak. His eyes slammed shut.

"Chrona?"

"I'm all right," he whispered. "Just…dizzy." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder, and breathed deeply for a few seconds.

Slowly, he raised his head and slipped her pants all the way off. She sat upright in bed, legs curled beneath her. His gaze moved up and down the length of her body. He looked into her eyes, then bowed his head, bangs falling across his eyes like a curtain.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

She was perfect. She was perfect and he wasn't, and it felt wrong to look at her, because he knew he didn't deserve it. And he knew he shouldn't think like that, but old habits were hard to break. "It's just…you're beautiful."

She brushed a lock of hair from his face. "So are you." Her hand slid down his back, to the rough patch of scar tissue near the base of his spine.

"I'm not," he murmured.

She smiled. "Handsome, then."

"No, I mean…I'm…"

"Don't," she said firmly. He blinked at her, and she touched the tip of his small, upturned nose. "I know where you're going, and we've had this conversation before. I won't let you talk bad about yourself. Okay?"

A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Okay."

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

They were in bed, naked. He didn't know what came next. Didn't know if they were supposed to put their clothes back on and just go on with their evening as if nothing had happened, or…

His gaze strayed to her breasts. When he noticed her noticing, he covered his eyes with both hands. "Sorry."

"I don't mind."

He peeked out at her from between his splayed fingers. "I thought you didn't like it when people stared at them."

"I don't mind, if it's you." She paused. "If you wanted to do more than look, I wouldn't mind that, either."

At those words, Chrona's heartbeat quickened. He lowered his hands from his face. He started to reach out. Stopped.

She waited.

His hand settled on the curve of her waist and slid along her side. Her skin was so smooth. So soft. He could see a few scars—all Meisters and Weapons had a few—but they somehow just made her more beautiful. Because they proved she was brave, that she wasn't afraid to fight.

Her breath caught as his thumb brushed against a pale scar on her side. A memory flickered through his head; spikes of black blood shooting out from his body, slicing through her as she walked toward him… "I gave you this one," he said. "Didn't I?"

"Yes."

He looked down, his throat suddenly tight.

She reached out, touched his shoulder, and traced a long, curved scar where her scythe had cut into him. It hadn't gone very deep—the black blood had stopped it—but he remembered the sharp burn of the blade biting through skin. "I gave you this one," she said. "Didn't I?"

"Yes. B-but I don't mind."

"I don't, either."

He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her scar. Her breathing had grown noticeably heavier, and a soft, glazed look had crept into her eyes.

His hands were surprisingly steady as they settled over her breasts. He brushed his thumbs over her small pink nipples. They stiffened. The flesh around them tightened and puckered, and her eyes slipped shut.

He held his breath, rubbing in slow circles. "Is this okay?" he murmured.

"Yes." Her voice emerged husky and breathless.

Gently, so gently, he rolled her left nipple between a thumb and forefinger. Her eyes opened. They held a strange look, focused but glassy. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted. Just seeing her like that made him dizzy all over again. He'd been blushing for so long, the heat in his cheeks was starting to feel like a permanent condition.

The room felt too warm.

"What do you want right now, Chrona?" she asked in that low, breathless voice.

"What do _you_ want, Maka?"

"You first."

He hesitated, his hands still resting lightly on her breasts.

She wanted more. He could see it in her eyes, like a low-burning flame; that need, that carefully controlled hunger.

His hands started to shake. He let them drop to his sides.

Maka touched the underside of his chin, and he looked up. She smiled at him, and he wondered if the hint of disappointment in her eyes was real or just his own paranoid imagination. "This was a big step forward for both of us," she said. "Maybe it's better to stop for now."

He didn't reply.

She kissed him softly. Her thumb touched the corner of his mouth, then brushed over his lower lip, leaving a trail of pleasant tingles.

Maka pulled back and asked, "Do you want to watch a movie?" Her tone had changed, lightened; that huskiness was gone. She picked up her shirt and started to slip into it. "Soul rented a comedy the other day. We could make some popcorn—"

"Wait."

She froze.

Chrona's sat on the bed, hugging his knees. "Ih-if you want—"

Her voice softened. "Chrona…remember what I said. We don't need to rush."

He knew she was willing to wait. But _willing to wait _meant that she wanted it now, that she was waiting for his sake. He was tired of always being the one to hold them back. "I don't want to keep running away," he said. "I ran from my feelings for so long, and it hurt you."

"This is different. This isn't something you should force yourself to do."

"It's not like that. I want you." For the first time, he was able to say it without stuttering. "I want you so much. Being scared doesn't change that. And…" His gaze dropped shyly. "I-if you want me, too…I want to at least _try. _But…" His teeth caught at his lower lip, tugging.

She took his hand, fingers slipping between his. "But?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm on the pill. I've been on it for a few weeks. It should be safe."

Chrona had only recently learned about things like that, and it was a strange feeling, knowing that Maka had been taking pills for all this time, just in case they decided to do something together. Even knowing how she felt, the idea that she would go to that much trouble for him made his head spin.

Chrona moistened dry lips with the tip of his tongue. "There's…something else."

"What is it?"

He'd never really talked about this. Before he and Maka became close, he'd never even thought much about it. He knew, of course, that a normal person's…stuff wasn't black. But Chrona was about as far from normal as someone could get.

Dr. Stein had once told him that the black blood worked like a virus, bonding to certain types of cells throughout his body. Chrona hadn't fully understood the explanation, but he understood what it meant for him. He couldn't escape his curse, even if he drained every drop of blood from his veins; the madness was entwined with his very being. Even worse…

"It's contagious," he said. "The black blood. L-like when Soul got some inside him. I don't want that to happen to you."

"But if it's just in your blood—" She stopped, eyes widening, as if she'd suddenly realized why he was saying this to her. "It's not?"

He rested his forehead against his knees. "It's in other things, too. N-not like tears or saliva or anything, but…anything that's black."

Silence.

"That's black, too?" Her voice had grown very soft.

He bowed his head and nodded. A hot, bitter knot formed in his chest. There was always something standing between him and Maka. He'd been almost certain that his deformity—he couldn't help thinking of it that way, even if she said it wasn't—would turn her away. It hadn't. Yet even now…

"It's okay," she said, though her voice was a little unsteady. "We'll just have to use protection. Though I guess we'd have to get some first."

"Well, um…" He fidgeted. "Soul gave me some of these." He opened the drawer of his nightstand, fumbled through it, and pulled out a small, square foil packet. "He said I should use them if we ever…" His gaze shifted back and forth. "…you know."

Maka blinked. "Wait, _Soul _gave you that? Why does he have…I mean, he's not even…" She took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "Never mind."

Chrona looked at her uncertainly, wondering why she seemed suddenly agitated. "You think it would be safe, if we used these?"

"I think so."

Chrona fiddled with the packet. "It still seems dangerous."

She reached out and lay a hand over his. "I want to try it, if you do." She gave him another tiny smile, but he could see the hints of fear and uncertainty in her expression. It was strange, to think that Maka was nervous about this too. She was always so brave. Maybe it was normal to be scared, after all.

They loved each other. They both wanted this. Still, a little voice in his head whispered that it was too much too soon, that something might go wrong.

"We don't have to do everything," she said, as if reading his mind. "We can just touch each other. We'll stop if we feel like it. And if we want to keep going…" She trailed off, letting the words hang in the air between them.

This was really happening. He and Maka were naked, in his bedroom, talking about having sex. He struggled to slow his breathing.

Ever since the moment she touched his soul, Maka had been his world, his light, his reason. She consumed his every waking thought. He'd dreamt about her, ached for her, craved the touch of her skin against his. Yet now, when he finally had the chance to make love to her, it was all he could do to keep himself from hyperventilating.

His stomach tightened into a slick knot, and he wished for the thousandth time that he wasn't such a timid weakling. He wished, at least, that he'd learned more about this so he'd know how to do it right. He wanted so much to do it right, to make her first time a memory that she would cherish. To make it perfect.

"Can you…guide me, a little?" he asked. "Sh-show me what you want."

"I will." Maka hesitated, took the foil packet from his fingers and set it on the nightstand. "We might not need it for a little while," she said in response to his puzzled look. "And Chrona?"

"Y-yes?"

"You remember our word?"

He nodded. He'd never forget something like that.

"If one of us wants to stop, we'll say it." She reached up to frame his face between her hands. Her lips touched his. He closed his eyes, his lips moving slowly against hers. Her tongue pushed forward, and his mouth opened a little wider.

She always tasted so clean.

Their tongues rubbed against each other, damp velvet and silk. She nibbled his lower lip, and he cautiously did the same to hers. Every so often she paused to plant soft kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, even his eyebrows—as if, he thought, she was tenderly claiming each feature for her own—but she always returned to his lips. They felt unusually sensitive, tingling and hot.

Gradually, he started to relax. Her fingers walked up and down his spine, skimmed over his ribcage, and traced patterns on his back and shoulders; little circles and figure eights.

They'd never kissed for this long. He felt different than he had when they started; a little lightheaded, but in a nice way, and pleasantly warm. It was like yet unlike the comfort that came from pain—the warmth, the fuzziness in his brain, the way everything seemed muted and heightened at the same time, the slow sweet release of fear as a drugged heat spread through his body and mind. A soft sigh escaped him as his tongue pushed forward again, into the welcoming warmth of her mouth.

This was nice, he thought. He could do this all night.

She pulled back and searched his eyes, checking the emotional weather there. A hand settled on his thigh and rubbed, sending little electric thrills through his nerves.

He wanted to touch her, too.

He slid his hands over her breasts, over her shoulders and back and thighs. So smooth, so soft. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of her beneath his palms, the scent of her hair and skin. Her smell reminded him of so many wonderful things. Sunlight and ocean and soft rain and hugs. He wanted to roll around in that scent like a cat in catnip, wanted to wrap himself up in it, warm and snug and secure.

He wondered if being inside her would be like that.

One palm rubbed over her thigh, moving closer to the thatch of downy hair between them…then stopped.

Slowly, Maka curled her fingers around his wrist and guided his hand to her sex. His breathing shuddered softly as he touched the short, springy curls. For a moment he remained motionless, palm resting against her, head spinning at the idea that he was touching her _there_.

He stroked her a few times, the way he'd pet a cat. Then he began to rub his palm against her. He didn't really know what he was doing, but he must have done _something _right, because she moaned, a hungry little sound that sent shivers through him.

His head buzzed. Heat rushed through his veins and pulsed between his thighs. He gulped, lowering his head, and looked at her—really looked at her. His fingertips brushed over the crease between her outer lips, then pushed deeper, into heated silk. She was wet, her folds slick against his fingertips.

She guided his fingers upward. There was something at the very top of her sex, like a little pink button. He rubbed a thumb over it, and her hips twitched. "Nngh…"

He froze. "Maka?"

"Softly," she murmured. "But don't stop. Please."

He stroked her little button again—a tentative, feather-light stroke—and traced a tiny circle around it. She gave a low, encouraging hum. He liked that sound. His movements grew bolder, bit by bit, until at last he worked up the nerve to trail one finger down and touch the little hollow of her entrance. He pushed, but there was something blocking the way.

He returned to that sensitive nub, teasing it with the tip of one finger. Her hands tightened into fists on the sheets, and her hips pushed upward, bringing his fingers more firmly against her. She lay back, her hair resting on the pillow, legs parting wider. Clear, sticky liquid glistened on her inner thighs. "That's good." Her voice was breathless, warm with pleasure and approval.

"Just like that?"

"Yes." Her green eyes were soft and glassy, heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her lips relaxed and parted. Sweat gleamed on her pale skin.

Chrona stared, wide-eyed. His mouth had gone dry, and his cock pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat as he watched her, drinking in every little movement, every little moan.

She grasped his free hand and pressed it against her cheek. Her eyes slipped shut, and for a moment she just held his hand there, breathing heavily. "I like your hands a lot," she whispered. "Have I told you that?"

He ducked his head, hair falling across his eyes, and nodded. Heat blazed in his cheeks.

She reached up to brush his hair from his face. Her fingertips trailed down his cheek. Her gaze moved lower, focusing on his erection. "Do you want to try it?" Her voice quivered a little—with anticipation or anxiety or both, he wasn't sure.

Chrona's heart lurched.

He could say no. They could stop and just hold each other, if they wanted.

Chrona looked into her eyes. He took a deep breath.

No more running away. "I want to."

Her eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." His hands trembled as he picked up the tiny foil packet, ripped it open, and tugged the pale latex onto his erection. Stretched over him, the material was thin, almost translucent. What if it ripped while he was inside her? Did that sort of thing ever happen?

His hands wouldn't stop shaking. _Please let me do this right. Please, please, let it be good for her._

Maka lay on her back, waiting, those green eyes watching him.

He straddled her hips and guided himself to her entrance with one hand. "…h-here?"

Her hands settled on his hips. "Down a little."

He adjusted his position and stopped, looking down into her eyes. What now? Did he just…do it?

"I'm ready," she said.

Chrona looked down into her wide eyes. He was poised at her entrance, pressed up against her.

This was it.

The pleasant mental haze from earlier had dissolved. It felt like someone had clamped a vice around his heart. He'd hoped—thought not really believed—that the fear would magically evaporate when this time came, that instinct would take over and it would just sort of…happen. No such luck.

"Chrona?" She lay a hand against his cheek.

He closed his eyes for a moment and focused on breathing. "I'm okay." His eyes opened. "I love you, Maka."

She stroked his cheek. "I love you too, Chrona."

He pushed forward and down. There was a resistance, and he felt something start to give way. Her body went rigid beneath him. He stopped.

"Go ahead," she urged, her voice thin and breathless.

He kept pushing. She was warm and slick…and tight. Much tighter than he'd expected. It felt like he was ripping her open. She flinched, fingers clenching on the sheets. His insides went cold, and the vice squeezed his heart. "Does it hurt?"

"A little." He could hear the strain in her voice. "But I'm okay."

He didn't move. He knew it was normal for it to hurt the first time, and it wasn't like Maka couldn't handle pain—she'd been wounded in battle more than once. Surely this was nothing compared to that—but still, he couldn't shake the fear that he was doing it wrong, that he was really, truly damaging her.

_Don't think. _If he started thinking, he'd lose his nerve.

Chrona braced himself and pushed forward again. She sucked in her breath sharply.

He shut his eyes and kept moving, rocking his hips against hers. A little moan escaped his throat. Her body gripped him, hot and snug. A part of him wanted to just let go and keep pushing and pushing, to lose all control.

But for him, losing control meant slipping into the madness. He could feel it even now, a darkness seething at the bottom of his mind, eager to break loose. It never fully went away. It just waited, coiled inside him.

He thrust. She tensed up again.

He was hurting her. He was hurting her and this was dangerous.

A nightmare vision flashed through his head—Maka impaled by black spikes, blood spattered on pale skin, green eyes glazing over in death…

_That won't happen, it won't happen, it won't happen._

Even if it didn't, there was the black blood. If even a little got inside her…

"Chrona?"

He'd stopped moving. He tried to push forward again, but he couldn't. His body wouldn't obey him. He kept seeing her eyes go blank and empty, head lolling to one side like a broken doll's. The vision looped over and over in his mind.

He trembled, his shoulders rigid, his hands braced against the bed. A tear dripped down, onto her chest. She stared up at him, wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He pulled back, out of her.

She sat up slowly. "It's okay." Her voice was gentle. "We can stop. We'll have other chances."

She was always so kind. Even when he disappointed and hurt her.

He couldn't meet her gaze. The shame was burning him up, incinerating him.

He curled his fingers around his fading erection and tugged off the condom; a flimsy bit of latex stained with wisps of red blood. Her blood. It slipped from his fingers. He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his forehead against them.

He wanted to cry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so worthless, so weak.

_If you truly loved her, you would leave her, _a voice in his head whispered: his own voice, but flat and cold and merciless._ Without you, she could have a normal life. If you stay, you'll only drag her down into your hell._

"Chrona?"

He could feel the seams of his mind starting to rip, threads stretching and snapping. He didn't have to see his own eyes to know what they looked like, wide and glazed, madness swirling in their depths. He kept his head down. His ragged breathing echoed through the room as he struggled to hold onto control.

He heard the creak of bedsprings as she moved closer. "Look at me, Chrona." Her voice was firm, but still gentle.

Shadows clawed at his mind, trying to drag him into darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight it back. He didn't want her to see him like this. "You should go," he whispered.

"I'm not leaving." Her voice held a stubborn, determined tone that he recognized well. But there was hurt, too. Of course, he thought. Of course she'd be hurt. He had failed her.

Chrona buried his face in his hands, shuddering. "J-just…just go." He squeezed the words out between clenched teeth. He hated saying them. But he knew it would be worse if she stayed.

"I told you, I'm not—"

"Don't you see? I c-can't touch you. I'm dirty. I'm sickness. I'm poison." His fingertips dug into his scalp, nails pressing in almost hard enough to break skin. "You should run, run away now, while you still can—"

"That's enough!" She sounded almost angry, now. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face.

Some gut-deep part of him expected to feel the sting of a slap or the blunter pain of a fist. He tensed, then went limp as a string-cut puppet, head hanging—accepting her anger, almost welcoming it. There was a dark, sick pleasure in being punished. He'd pushed her too far, at last, and now she would unleash her contempt, would crush him, shatter him, erase him…

…but the blow didn't come. Slowly, he raised his head.

Her green eyes were filled with tears.

The sight hit him like a splash of cold water, clearing the shadows from his head. The shame deepened, cutting into him like a knife, and an ache spread through his chest. "I'm sorry, Maka," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I wanted so much to do this right, but I ruined it for you. I made you cry."

Her expression softened. "That's not why I'm crying, you idiot. It's not _about_ that."

"Then why—" He fell silent, eyes widening as he realized. _I told her to leave…_

"What do you think I am?" she asked. "Some stupid little girl? Do you think what I feel for you is just a crush?"

"N-no."

"Do you think I only want you for sex?"

"No!"

"Then what makes you think I would leave you now?"

Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He closed them. "I just…s-sometimes…I think you would be happier if you'd never met me."

She released his wrists, brushed his hair from his forehead, and framed his face between her hands. "Chrona…open your eyes."

His breath hitched, and his heartbeat quickened. But he obeyed.

She stared at him, eyes burning, a determined frown on her face. "There's something you need to get through your head right now," she said. "_I'm not leaving_. No matter what happens, no matter how complicated things get, I'll still be here. If I get infected with madness, I'll deal with it. If you don't want to risk it, if we can't have sex the usual way, fine. We'll figure something else out. But don't you dare try to push me away out of some stupid, noble, misguided attempt to protect me. Don't you _dare._ I can't leave you any more than I can rip out my own guts. I'm bound to you. And that's how I want it. So please, don't…" Her voice softened and wavered. "Don't tell me I'd be happier without you. That's just crazy."

For a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. He just looked at her.

Slowly, he reached out and brushed a thumb under her eye, wiping away a tear. "I could never leave you, Maka," he said. "And I don't want you to leave me. You're my whole world. B-but…I…" He swallowed, trying to loosen the knot in his throat. "I'm so afraid that I'll hurt you. That's why I stopped. I was afraid that I'd lose control, that I wouldn't be strong enough to control the madness."

"You won't hurt me," she said.

"How can you be sure?"

"I just know. That's all."

He closed his eyes. He wished he had half as much faith in himself as Maka did. "I just want to be normal. You deserve someone normal."

"I don't _want_ normal," she said. "I want you."

Slowly, he raised his head.

"I want _you, _Chrona," she said softly. Her fingertips rested against his cheek, spots of soothing coolness on burning skin. "But when we do have sex, I want it to be because _you_ want it too, not just because you want to please me."

"I know. But…" Warmth rose into his cheeks. "I did want it. A lot. I wanted to know that we could share something like that, that I wasn't too broken. I wanted to be closer to you."

For a moment, she just looked at him. A long, deep, searching look. She wasn't touching his soul—he'd learned to recognize the little tingle inside his chest—but he always felt naked before her gaze.

She lay a hand on his chest, over the patch of scar tissue. "Lie down," she said.

He blinked. "Wh-what?" He knew what she'd said. He just didn't understand why.

Instead of repeating herself, Maka pushed him gently to the bed, onto his back. Her hand rested against his chest, fingers splayed and pressing down lightly, holding him in place. His heart beat rapidly against her palm.

"You're not dirty, you know," she said. "You have the purest soul of anyone I've ever met. And it's no use trying to argue. I've seen it."

"You see the good in everyone, Maka. Even me."

"I don't know where you get that idea. There's plenty of people I can't stand." A tiny smile touched her lips. "Actually, the list of people I really, truly _like _is pretty small. But I couldn't help liking you. Once I really knew you, I mean." She rubbed his chest, a slow, circular movement. "When I first touched your soul, one of the things I felt was that no one had ever been kind to you. No one had ever done something just to make you happy."

He listened, holding his breath.

"Your soul felt so sad. So gentle. I wanted to hold it and warm it in my hands." Her fingertips wandered over the landscape of his scars. "The first time I saw you smile—a real smile—it made me so giddy. And you have the sweetest laugh. I could get drunk on it." She lowered her head and rested it on his chest, over his heart. "You think that you don't give me anything. But you give me so much."

He hoped it was true. He wanted so much to make her happy. He wanted...

Her gaze lifted to meet his. "You know what the trouble is? You're still too much in your head." One warm fingertip touched the spot just above and between his eyes. "I can practically hear your thoughts whirring around in here. They never stop."

He gulped, pulse tripping along in his throat. "I don't know how to stop them." If he could, his life would be a lot simpler.

"Just be your body for awhile." Her thumb rubbed against his hipbone. "Just feel." Her head slid lower, cheek brushing across his ribs. Her hair trailed over his stomach. It tickled.

He tensed, his breath catching. "Wh-what…"

"I'll help you," she said. "If you want me to." Her lips grazed the smooth skin just below his navel, and the muscles of his stomach shivered. Her hands settled on his narrow hips. Her breath ghosted over his skin. In the dim light, her green eyes looked almost luminous.

His breathing quickened, and his hands fisted tightly on the sheets. She stroked one pale thigh. "It'll be okay. I promise."

He didn't know what was about to happen. But by now, it was the most natural thing in the world to surrender and trust her.

He closed his eyes.

Maka stared at his face. His expression was calm and still, but she could feel the tension in his muscles. She took a deep breath and curled her fingers around his half-erect cock. He twitched, and a little sound escaped his throat.

"Relax," she urged.

She stroked him, sliding slowly, gently up and down, coaxing him back to hardness. Her fingertips traced the flared head, very gently. His flesh tightened, darkening to a dusky scarlet; the pink of flesh mixed with the black of the blood swelling him.

A little bead of pre-ejaculatory fluid welled up from the slit at the tip. Clear fluid. Her heartbeat quickened. "Chrona?"

"Yes?"

"Only the black stuff is dangerous. Right?"

A pause. "Y-yes. But…"

She rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the sticky fluid over it. He made another small sound, almost a whimper, and a tremor ran through him. She glanced at his face. His eyes were still closed, his lips parted slightly. There was a tiny furrow between his eyebrows, as if he were concentrating on something.

She started to lean down and stopped.

She wondered if this was a mistake. She didn't even know how. But it couldn't be that complicated, could it? She stared at him, breathing lightly against his flesh, and wondered what it would be like to see him lost in pleasure. Not worrying, not struggling, not nervous—just overwhelmed with physical sensation. She wanted to prove to him that this was something they could share.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "This can stop anytime you want," she reminded him.

If this were any other boy she knew—Soul or Black Star or Kid—the idea that he might want to _stop, _would need to be reassured that he _could_ stop it,would have seemed absurd. But this was Chrona. The rules were different.

Her hair brushed against his thigh, over his sex. He gasped. "M-Maka…"

Her lips hovered just an inch over him. "Just let me." She swallowed, trying to generate more moisture, and ran her tongue over the head of his cock.

His eyes snapped open as he let out a startled little sound, halfway between a hiccup and a squeak. His hips jerked.

She blinked. "Chrona?"

His eyes were enormous. "Y-y-you…you licked me," he gasped out.

Heat flooded her cheeks. His reaction made her wonder just how innocent he was. Even if neither one of them knew much about it, surely Chrona had at least encountered the concept of oral sex.

Or maybe not. He was looking at her as though she'd just informed him that she was actually a mermaid from the moon. "Is that okay?" she asked.

He gulped, cheeks pink, arms held tight against his chest. "It…felt good." His gaze darted away, and he murmured, "Really really good. B-but…I mean, ih-isn't that…"

"It'll be okay if I don't…you know. Swallow any." Her face grew warmer still. Both of them had been blushing more or less constantly since they took off their clothes. "I'll be careful."

He drew in a shaky breath. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She licked him again, a long, slow wet lick from base to tip. His head fell back against the pillow, his mouth dropped open, and his eyes went soft and hazy, drifting out of focus. "Maka…" Her name escaped his lips as a breathless whisper.

She curled her fingers around the base of his cock. Her tongue teased the little slit at the tip, tasting salt and flesh.

He gripped the sheets in tight fists, panting, chest heaving. His eyes were whirlpools of longing and fear and astonishment and desperate need.

She'd never known anyone who felt as much as Chrona. She wanted him like this, trembling under her touch, his skin hot and damp with sweat, his eyes open windows into his fractured and complicated soul. She wanted everything—his darkness and his light, his scars and his beauty, his pain and his innocence.

She licked him again, and his lids slipped shut.

"Keep them open," she said softly.

His eyes snapped wide open and stayed that way, unblinking.

For a moment, Maka just looked at him. She smiled, wanting to reassure him, and he smiled back. It was timid and uncertain, but genuine, and a pressure inside her chest eased.

This was Chrona, her special person. As she had showed him what it meant to have a friend, to be loved and accepted for who he was, now she wanted to show him this. Inexperienced as she was, she wouldn't be much of a teacher, but maybe that was all right. They could learn from each other.

She opened her mouth and took him in.

Chrona couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

His mind—which, a moment ago, had been an electrical storm of thoughts and confusion—was now a white blank, as if she'd reached inside and flipped some magic switch. Her lips slid over him, soft and moist, and his brain just kept stuttering that it was wet and hot and good and it was _Maka _and she was…she was…

Her tongue rubbed against the underside of his cock, slippery-soft and wet. One hand remained curled around the base, a warm pressure. The other hand rubbed his thigh in a steady, soothing motion.

A soft moan slipped from his throat. He stared at the ceiling, dizzy. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at her.

Maka was stretched out on the bed between his legs, naked, hair falling shiny and messy in her face, soft pink lips wrapped around him. Her green eyes were heavy-lidded, staring at him through loose wisps of blonde hair as her head bobbed up and down.

At the sight, a wave of dizziness washed over him and his head dropped back to the pillow. If there'd been any space inside his mind for thought, he might have been panicking. Just earlier that day, he'd been unable to imagine even getting undressed in front of her, and now he was in bed with her and she was—she was—

Her mouth tugged, and his thoughts scattered.

Her palm slid along smooth skin, toward the juncture between his thighs. Anxiety flickered inside him as her soft fingertips brushed the place just beneath his erection. He tensed. The gentle touch withdrew, and her hand settled on his thigh again.

As her lips slid down his length, her teeth grazed him. It wasn't quite pain, but it made him aware of his own vulnerability, and a not-unpleasant shiver skittered down his spine. His fingers dug into the sheets, and the muscles in his chest tightened. If she wanted, she could bite, she could…

This was Maka, he reminded himself. His dear, trusted friend, his beloved. She wouldn't hurt him. His grip loosened.

Then she touched him _there _again, fingertips trailing over hot, moist flesh; a place he tried not to think about, because he didn't know how to deal with it. For so many years he had tried to ignore its existence, but now she was stroking it, petting him, and it felt so unexpectedly _good._

Maka raised her head, and his erection slipped from her mouth, dusky rose-pink and glistening with her saliva. Her eyes searched his. "Is this okay?"

He couldn't speak, couldn't find the words. He ached inside and out, a deep pulsing ache. He wanted to fill her, to be filled by her, it didn't matter just so long as she kept touching him.

"Chrona?"

He concentrated on her eyes; familiar, trusted eyes, warm and gentle. He let those eyes envelope and hold him until he was aware of nothing but green. At last, he found his voice, and all that came out was, "P-please…please, Maka."

One warm hand rested on his thigh, so close to the place where he needed it, but not quite touching. His hips twitched and pushed upward, toward her, instinctively seeking more.

Maka took a deep breath and lowered her head. Her lips wrapped around his cock again, and her cheeks drew inward as she sucked.

This—this wasn't like touching himself. This was so much more intense.

Her lips slid down, engulfing another inch of him, as her fingertips stroked that otherplace. Wetness seeped onto his inner thighs, slick and hot, like blood. But it wasn't blood. An ache pulsed deep within him, like an itch he couldn't quite reach. Then her finger pushed deeper, into soft, wet flesh. There was an uncomfortable pressure, followed by a sharp, hot sting. His muscles stiffened.

Maka raised her head again, panting. "Are you all right? How does this feel?"

"It feels f-funny." She withdrew her hand again, and immediately he wanted it back. "I d-didn't mean…it's not bad. It's just…"

Chrona wasn't good with words at the best of times, and he was far from clearheaded right now. He kneaded the sheets between his fingers, taking comfort in the texture of the cotton—something simple, something he could understand—then Maka's hand found his and clutched it tight, fingers interlocking with his, and that helped even more. It was an anchor, something sure and solid in this shifting, amorphous haze of new feelings.

She squeezed his hand. Her other hand slid between his thighs again, settling over him, so the heel of her hand was pressed up against the base of his erection and her fingertips rested against that otherplace. His heartbeat quickened.

He hadn't expected her to pay so much attention to that place. He hadn't thought she would _want _to. Because it was strange, because he was a boy—mostly—and a boy wasn't supposed to have something like that. But she seemed almost…fascinated, the way she kept touching, exploring him in slow, gentle little strokes.

"Do you want more?" she asked.

He nodded without thinking.

More pressure, tiny hot spikes of pain, _stretching_…

He started to tense up, resisting…then she squeezed his hand, and he released his fear and relaxed into it.

The pain didn't diminish, exactly, but softened, growing somehow pleasurable, melting into a warm ache. A sigh escaped him, and he pushed upward, bringing her deeper, even as her mouth enveloped his cock again. Her fingers moved slowly within him, rubbing against sensitive wet flesh.

It felt odd. Different. But not bad. As she kept going, _not bad _became _good _and then _really good _and then _please God don't let her stop._ Still, inner muscles clenched as she pushed deeper.

_Relax. _Her voice was in his head, not his ears. Somehow, that didn't surprise him. He recognized the warmth rolling over him—resonation—and suddenly he felt utterly _open, _as if the wall that separated his thoughts from the rest of the world had begun to fade.

Her hand slid from his grip, and the sudden absence left him unsteady. Her palm settled on his thigh. The muscles jumped beneath her touch. A spasm of panic gripped his chest.

_It's okay. _Green eyes found his. _I promise. Just breathe._

He breathed. He focused on the sensations—her mouth, so soft and wet, so warm—and that sweet, melting heat spreading inside him as she moved deeper still. He hadn't known the otherplace went that deep.

His hands fisted on the sheets, relaxed and clenched again. "Maka…I…" His voice quivered. His mouth moved, trying to form words, but words wouldn't come.

The boundaries between them were dissolving. It should have been terrifying and painful, like having all his skin peeled off, but somehow it wasn't. It was like relaxing a muscle that had been tensed for so long, he'd forgotten it was there.

He watched, dazed, as his own hand—independent of his will—drifted up to caress her cheek. His thumb touched the corner of her mouth, where they were connected, flesh to flesh.

"You want me?" he said, his voice soft with wonder. Though Ragnarok was quiet inside him, Chrona could almost hear his voice, abrasive and sarcastic as ever: _She's sucking your cock _right this moment_, and you're _still _not sure she wants you?_

She raised her head, and he slipped from her mouth, red and hard and aching. Her lips were wet and shiny. "Yes," she whispered.

She took him in again, and her fingers moved against wet soft flesh, deeper, and she found _something, _a little pulsing center. The sudden pressure against it, the shock of pleasure, was like a flash of lightning inside him.

The little yowl that came out of his mouth was more animal than human, like a cat in heat.

She raised her head, his erection sliding from her mouth, and wrapped her fingers firmly around the hard flesh.

He panted. "I w-want—can we—"

He couldn't get the words out. But somehow, she understood.

There was a moment of fumbling as she fished another square foil packet from the drawer, tore it open, and rolled the latex over him. She straddled his hips and stopped, looking into his eyes. The head of his cock was pressed up against her entrance, and he felt a tiny, cold flash of fear…

And then she was sliding down on top of him, hot and slick and so very tight. His hips arched upward, pushing deeper into her, and she gasped. Her hands rested on his chest. Her eyes were wide as she stared down into his. Neither one of them made a sound. There was only their mingled breathing as he pushed and she pushed back, her hips rocking against his.

Control was slipping away. It was too much like falling into the black void of madness, and somewhere deep in the haze of need and hunger, he could feel panic trying to claw its way into him, cold talons scraping at his brain. "Maka," he gasped out. "I—I'm—"

Maka's hands found his wrists, and her fingers curled around them, pinning them down to the bed. Her nails pressed into his skin. "Not yet," she gasped. "Please…just a little more."

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, hips grinding down, taking him deeper. He groaned, low and throaty. He kept thrusting, his body running on instinct as he hooked his legs around her waist, pulling her closer.

Her teeth pressed lightly into his shoulder. She released his wrists, and his hands fisted in her hair. Her hips ground against his, and her muscles stiffened. Through the link between them, he felt her starting to come, a bright, fierce pleasure glowing deep inside her body. His hips arched up, off the bed, pressing himself as deep into her as he could go, bringing her over the edge. She bit down harder on his shoulder.

Pain lit up his nerves, hot and sharp and unexpected. He cried out. The last of his self-control shattered under the bright edge of sensation. There was a sharp, wrenching spasm of pleasure, and then…

Everything went bright and hazy, boundaries softening and blurring, fading. He closed his eyes. For a moment he floated, the room in free fall around him.

When his eyes opened, he was still buried in her warmth, and her teeth were still in his shoulder. The pain had dimmed to a steady throb, warm waves washing over him with each heartbeat.

He felt so light, as if he were floating. At the same time, he had never been more aware of his body, the weight and warmth of his own flesh, the pressure of her sweat-moist skin against his. His mind was quiet.

Maka raised her head. He looked into her eyes. They had done it. They had made love, and the madness hadn't taken over, and she was alive and safe. He reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her face.

She rested a hand on his chest, and her fingers were stained black. For an instant the sight confused him, and then he realized—of course. She had broken that part of him, and he had broken hers. Red blood smeared her thighs. A bit of black blood stained the sheets between his legs.

Another circle erased.

* * *

><p>Maka closed her eyes, hot and dizzy. The honey-laced sting of orgasm had dimmed to a pleasant ache between her sticky thighs, and she could feel Chrona's erection fading inside her.<p>

She tasted something salty. Blood. Only then did she remember what she'd done. Shocked, she looked down at the ring of tooth-marks on his shoulder. Her eyes widened. "Chrona, I'm s—"

Then she saw his expression and stopped.

His eyes were soft and unfocused, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted. Relaxed.

His hand drifted to his shoulder, and his fingers brushed over the ring of tooth-marks. A tiny smile curved his lips. "Maka…" Her name escaped him as a soft, happy little sigh. He kept stroking the mark, his expression open and drowsy. A faint, satisfied hum vibrated in the back of his throat, like a cat's purr.

She stared.

A tiny furrow appeared in his brow. "Maka?" A note of uncertainty crept into his voice. She saw the hint of fear in his eyes, the way they turned up to hers, asking silently if he'd done something wrong.

"It's okay," she whispered. Her voice emerged a little faint, a little breathless.

She'd bitten him. She hadn't meant to, but it had happened. She could still taste faint hints of copper in her mouth.

She slid off of him. His spent cock slipped out of her, and she peeled off the wet latex. She couldn't resist looking inside.

It was black, just as he'd said. She let it fall from her fingers, into the trashcan beside the bed.

They'd been so careful. And then she'd gone and _bitten _him. Why had she done that?

Maybe it would be okay. She'd only gotten a tiny bit of blood in her mouth.

She looked at Chrona. He lay on his side, his long, pale body curled semi-fetal, knees tucked close to his chest, arms hugging a pillow. He gazed up at her, pupils large in the dim light. "Will you cuddle with me?"

She'd worry about it later, she decided. What was done was done. Chrona wanted cuddling, and that was a matter which took priority over all others.

She stretched out beside him, and he snuggled against her. "Mmm…" He sighed again, his eyes drifting shut, and nuzzled into the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She hugged him close. "'S nice," he murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Sex. It felt nice."

"It did," she agreed. "Really nice." And it had. It had hurt at first, but the sensation of him moving inside her had made it all worthwhile. And everything that had led up to it—the touching, the taste of him, the sound of his soft moans…

Even though she'd just come, heat stirred below her belly at the memory.

"Can we do it again sometime?" he asked.

"We will. Lots of times."

He smiled and wound a tendril of her hair around one finger. They looked at each other in the soft lamplight. Their faces were close together, and she could see her reflection in his eyes. "You're the most wonderful girl in the world," he said softly.

A lump filled her throat, and tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't, that he gave her too much credit. But suddenly, she couldn't speak. At last, she swallowed the lump and whispered, "You're the most wonderful boy."

At those words, something flickered in his eyes. "Y-you really don't mind…that?"

"I don't mind." After a moment, she added, "I like it." She had the feeling that later she'd be asking herself all kinds of awkward questions, but right now, that didn't matter. Right now, she just wanted to be close to him.

"Can I fall asleep in your arms?" he asked.

She nodded and hugged him tighter.

"I used to think about this," he whispered. "When I couldn't sleep, or after I had a bad dream. I would hug my pillow and pretend it was you."

"You don't have to pretend anymore." She nuzzled the smooth skin of his cheek. "I'm here."

Another soft sigh escaped him, and his eyes slipped shut. There was a tiny smile on his lips, a light pink flush in his cheeks. His breathing slowed as he drifted off, but that little smile remained.

She ought to clean out and bandage the bite on his shoulder. She'd do it soon. But right now, she didn't want to move.

She stayed awake, just listening to his breathing.

-To be continued


	14. Chapter 14

Soul tried to pretend he didn't know.

He tried to ignore the knowing looks Chrona and Maka exchanged over the breakfast table, the suggestive little smiles, the way they both seemed to be in an abnormally good mood. They were practically sparkling. Under the table, Maka stroked Chrona's foot with her sock-clad toes.

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Cool guys didn't call attention to that kind of thing, though. Soul poked at his omelet. It occurred to him that he was suddenly the only virgin in the room.

Damn, this was weird.

He hoped they'd used protection. He'd bought that box of condoms just in case they ever needed it, knowing that if Chrona tried to buy anything like that himself, he'd probably faint with embarrassment. "So, uh, you guys study for the test?"

Maka sipped her orange juice. "Oh, right. I should probably review my notes. I didn't get a chance last night."

Her gaze met Chrona's across the table. He ducked his head shyly and tapped his forefingers together, but he was smiling. An answering smile spread across Maka's face.

Soul propped his cheek up on one hand and suppressed a sigh. He was happy as hell for them, he really was, but being cool about it wasn't easy when they made it so obvious.

Blair waltzed into the kitchen wearing a skimpy pink top, a pink-sequined purse, and a skirt that just barely covered her panties. Soul nearly choked on a mouthful of omelet. He grabbed a napkin and quickly wiped away the bit of blood that trickled from his nose.

Blair tilted her head and looked at them. She leaned in and sniffed at Maka, then at Chrona. Then she broke into a wide smile and said, "Congratulations!"

Chrona squeaked. Maka gulped.

So much for subtlety.

"B-Blair, what do you mean?" Maka said in a wobbly, high-pitched tone.

Ragnarok burst out of Chrona's back and settled onto his head. "Isn't it obvious? She's talking about you two fucking."

Maka ducked her head, cheeks flushing a bright pink. "You can…smell that?"

"Of course! Chrona's scent is all over you." Blair giggled behind one manicured hand. "No need to be shy about it. I'm happy for you! You and Chrona are adorable together." She leaned closer to Maka and winked. "I can give you some tips, if you like. I've got lots of experience."

Maka's blush brightened.

Soul awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. Blair really had no concept of modesty. Or tact. Or what was considered normal to say at the breakfast table. And damn it, now he kept thinking about what kind of "tips" she wanted to give Maka. He wiped away another nosebleed, trying to be discreet about it. "Uh, Blair…you should probably just…"

"Sh-she doesn't need any help."

They all looked at Chrona in surprise. He fidgeted, fiddling with his silverware. "I mean…w-we…it was fine." His voice had dropped to a mumble. "Th-that is…" He took a deep breath and raised his head, his expression suddenly serious, despite the fact that his face was bright red. "It was wonderful."

Soul suddenly became very interested in the grapefruit half on his plate. He wondered if he should say "congratulations" too or just pretend he hadn't heard any of that.

He glanced up and saw Maka and Chrona gazing at each other across the table, starry-eyed. They seemed to have momentarily forgotten his existence.

"Awww, you two are so in love!" Blair squealed. She pulled them both into a hug, squishing their faces against her massive breasts. Maka and Chrona struggled, making muffled noises of protest as she squeezed them. Ragnarok, meanwhile, seemed busy trying to get a good look at Blair's cleavage.

When she finally released them, they flopped back into their chairs, gasping for breath.

Blair grinned and lifted one hand in a wave. "I'm going shopping! I'll bring you back a cake!" She sashayed out the door, humming.

"Did you hear that?" Ragnarok said. "We're gonna get _cake._"

Chrona gulped, tapping his fingers together. He and Maka looked at each other, blushing. A moment later, they both started to giggle.

"Dammit," Ragnarok said, "you're going to be like this for awhile, aren't you? All this giggling and blushing and goo-goo eyes and soppy smiles and playing footsie under the table and…gah!" He recoiled into Chrona's body.

Maka reached across the table and took Chrona's hand. "Don't mind him," she said.

Chrona nodded, gazing at her with eyes full of pure adoration; the look he reserved for Maka alone. He looked at her as if she were the only girl—hell, the only person—in the world.

Soul had never been a big believer in things like true love or soulmates or destiny. But looking at them, he could see how someone _could _believe in that stuff.

Maka finished her breakfast and retreated to her bedroom to get her books. Soul rose from his chair, reached over and ruffled Chrona's hair. "Be good to her, buddy," he said.

Chrona blinked up at him. Then he squared his shoulders and nodded, a solemn look on his face. "I will."

* * *

><p>Later, in the bathroom, Chrona showered and brushed his teeth. He paused to stare into the foggy mirror, at his own thin, pale body.<p>

He still felt a twinge of discomfort at the sight of himself naked, but it wasn't as bad as it had been. It helped, knowing that Maka accepted him as he was. If she could accept him, maybe he could learn to accept himself.

His gaze strayed to the square band-aid on his shoulder.

He slid a thumbnail under the edge and peeled it off slowly, his breath catching at the pain. The bite was still there, dark bruises forming beneath the skin. Chrona traced the ring of tooth-marks.

He remembered that happening, but at the time, he'd been too blissed out and fuzzy-headed to think about it. Had she gotten any blood in her mouth?

Ragnarok settled atop his head. "She's a little rough, huh? Well, I guess that works out, seeing as how you're into pain."

Chrona tensed and lay a hand over the scars on his chest. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach. "D-don't make jokes like that. And she isn't. She was gentle."

He chuckled. "You don't have to tell _me _how it was, I was there. I have to admit, she really surprised me. After you freaked out I thought it was all over, but I tell ya, when she falls off the horse she gets right back in the saddle—"

"Don't."

"—what? I'm giving her a compliment!"

"Ragnarok, _don't._"

"Oh, come on! I behaved myself all last night! I didn't make a peep, even during the surprise blowjob!" He grabbed Chrona's head. "After all this angst, Maka finally takes a ride on your disco stick and you're not going to let me say _anything_? How fucking cruel is that?"

Chrona grabbed a towel and began rubbing his hair dry. His cheeks burned.

Last night had been so sweet and intimate, like he and Maka were making love to each other's souls, like they were sharing a precious secret. And then Ragnarok reduced it all to _blowjob _and _disco stick._ "It's special," he murmured. "It's really special and personal and I don't want you talking about it like that."

"Okay, okay," he grumbled. "You suck the fun out of everything, you know that?" He vanished into Chrona's back.

Chrona sighed. He stared at the bite a moment longer, then covered it up with the band-aid. His hand lingered there a moment longer, over the mark; proof that last night had happened, that it had all been real, impossible as it seemed.

* * *

><p>Maka hummed a cheerful tune, tapping out a beat with her pencil. At the front of the class, Dr. Stein was holding a dead frog by its arms, moving it around in what looked like some kind of macabre puppet show.<p>

"Of course, some would say that implanting a soul within a corpse, animal or human, is tampering in God's domain. But let's think for a moment about the benefits—"

Maka struggled to pay attention to the lecture. She kept daydreaming about last night, reliving moments in her head. Little bubbles of giddiness swirled within her. It was like being drunk, but without the haziness that supposedly went along with it.

She and Chrona had decided to keep it between them, of course, but it felt too big to contain. A part of her wanted to shout it out to the world, to stand on the roof of the school and announce to all of Death City that she'd made love with Chrona Makenshi.

It was madness, but a wonderful kind of madness.

She kept looking over at him, catching his gaze and smiling, and he would blush and smile back.

"—and if we were to insert the soul of a bird into this frog, what do you suppose the result would be? Would we have a frog that yearned to fly, or an earthbound bird?"

Chrona fiddled with his pencil, and she watched him turning it over and over in those long, pale, graceful fingers. She remembered the way they'd moved between her thighs, and suddenly the room felt ten degrees warmer.

He was so perfect, so kind and sweet and giving and adorable, and he was _hers. _As soon as she was alone with him, she decided, she was going to kiss him absolutely senseless.

After class let out, Liz elbowed her in the hall and said, "Did someone slip happy pills into your coffee?"

She beamed. "Nope. Just in a good mood, I guess."

Chrona blushed and clutched his arm as he walked alongside her.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "You look like the cat that got the cream."

Ragnarok burst out of Chrona's back. "Oh, she got the cream all right."

Chrona _eep_ed. "Ragnarok!"

"What? I'm just saying—"

Maka shoved down on Ragnarok's head, trying to push him back into Chrona's body, to no avail. Liz watched them with a baffled expression for a moment, then realization flickered in her eyes and a knowing smile tugged at her lips. "Well, I'll see you two tomorrow." She waved and continued down the hall.

Maka sighed. At this rate, half of Death City would know before the day was over.

At the moment, however, she couldn't even be annoyed with Ragnarok. Every time she looked at Chrona, her heart swelled with joy.

She felt a sudden flicker of unease, a cold little flash beneath the warmth, and stopped walking.

"Maka?" Chrona stopped, too. "What's wrong?"

"I just remembered," she said, "there was something I wanted to ask Dr. Stein." She smiled, not wanting to worry him. "You go on ahead. I'll meet you outside the school."

Chrona nodded uncertainly.

Maka walked back toward the classroom. She hesitated just outside the doorway, peering in. Stein was sitting at his desk, writing in a ledger. The dead frog floated nearby, in a jar of formaldehyde.

"Dr. Stein?" she called.

"Have a seat."

Maka approached, pulled up a chair, and sat. Stein set his pen down, cranked his bolt, and said, "Something troubling you?"

She wondered how he'd known. But then, Stein could see souls. He could often read someone's mood just by looking at her. Self-conscious, she crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. "I'm not really…troubled. I just wanted to ask something about black blood."

"Go ahead."

She paused, wondering how to phrase the question. "How powerful is it? I mean…let's say someone swallows just a few drops. Would that be enough to infect a person with madness?"

He cranked his bolt again. "Is this an academic question, or does this have something to do with you and Chrona?"

Heat flooded her cheeks. She supposed there was no point in trying to hide it from Stein. "I might have swallowed a little of his blood."

Stein frowned. "How exactly did that happen?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maka…"

She sighed, shoulders slumping, and stared down at her shoes. Heat blazed in her cheeks. "I bit him."

A long pause. "You bit him," Stein repeated.

Maka fidgeted. She hoped he wouldn't ask why. But then, Stein could probably figure it out on his own.

"You're aware of the dangers, aren't you?" There was no judgment in his expression or tone, but she could sense that the question was about more than just the bite.

"I am," she said. "We're being careful."

He folded his hands on the desk and breathed a small sigh. "You're an intelligent girl. I won't lecture you about things you already know. As for your question…" Stein leaned back in his chair. "You've been exposed to black blood before, haven't you? Through Soul?"

"Yes, when we resonate. Is that the same thing, though?"

"It's not the same as being directly infected, no. Regardless, your Anti-Demon Wavelength should provide you with some natural resistance. In addition to that, your personality type—unlike mine or Chrona's—is not one easily swayed to madness. Of course, no one is completely immune. I recommend that you avoid biting him in the future, but it seems unlikely to me that a few drops of black blood would have any significant effect on you."

The tension eased out of her shoulders. Maybe she'd been worried about nothing, after all.

"Although…" He cranked his bolt again. "Black blood is a complex and unpredictable substance. A person's emotional state can also influence her susceptibility. Have you been troubled by anything lately?"

Maka hesitated. "Not really. I mean, aside from this. But…"

"Dr. Stein."

Maka looked over her shoulder and saw a familiar, blue-skinned form standing in the doorway. "Sid-sensei?"

"Dr. Stein, I need to speak with you in private," Sid said. He glanced at Maka. "My apologies, but this is an urgent matter."

Stein rose to his feet. He paused, looking at Maka, and said, "You're probably fine. But if you start seeing or hearing any strange things, let me know." He followed Sid out of the classroom.

* * *

><p>Chrona stood outside Shibusen's entrance, clutching his books against his chest. He kept glancing at the door.<p>

"Relax," Soul said. He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. "It's only been five minutes. She's fine."

Chrona nodded. He knew Soul was right. Still, he couldn't stop himself from worrying. What was Maka talking to Stein about? Was something wrong? Maybe she'd been infected with black blood, after all. Maybe she was already experiencing symptoms, and she just hadn't told him because she didn't want to cause him anxiety, and—

_Stop it, _he told himself. _What are you, a child? Can't you be separated from her for five minutes without panicking?_

The mental scolding didn't curb his fear, however. It just made him feel guilty about it. He sighed.

On a rational level, he knew that Maka was fine, that she probably just had a question about the lecture. Still, he wouldn't feel completely safe until she was next to him again.

"Uh-oh," Soul muttered.

Chrona looked up to see a red-haired man approaching.

He twitched. He recognized Spirit, Maka's father, though he'd only spoken to the man a handful of times—and not at all since he and Maka had become a couple.

He knew that Maka didn't like Spirit. He also knew, from her complaining, that Spirit was highly protective of his daughter.

Chrona gulped. The familiar iron bands of panic tightened around his chest, and he started to tremble.

Spirit stopped in front of him and stared at him, his expression unreadable. "Is it true?" he asked, his voice low and neutral. "That you and Maka are together now?"

Chrona took a deep, shaky breath and clutched his books tighter against his chest, like a shield. No more running away, he thought. He raised his eyes to Spirit's and said, "Yes."

"I've heard a lot about you, you know," he said grimly. "I've been doing some research, over the past few weeks. I even snuck a peek at your psychological profile."

Soul frowned. "Is that allowed?"

Spirit smiled; a tight, mirthless smile. "Not exactly, but being a Deathscythe has its privileges."

Chrona forced himself to stand straight, though he wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and hide.

"Hey, Spirit," Soul said, a warning in his tone, "go easy on him."

"This conversation is between me and Chrona," Spirit said, his gaze never leaving Chrona's face. "I just want to ask him a few questions."

Chrona tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He was going to have to face Spirit at some point. He'd known this moment was coming. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. "Ih-it's okay, Soul. I can deal with this."

Had he really just said that? What had possessed him to say that? He couldn't deal with this at _all. _Chrona struggled to control his breathing. Already, he was growing dizzy from hyperventilation, but he'd made up his mind not to back down. He hadn't done anything wrong. There was no reason to cower.

Still, it took all his willpower to hold his spine straight.

Spirit stepped closer, until they were standing toe to toe. Chrona whimpered. His books slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the ground, and he clutched his arm.

Spirit drew himself up and squared his shoulders, towering over Chrona, who resisted the urge to take a step back. "You love Maka," he said.

It was less a question than a statement, but Chrona replied, "More than anything."

Spirit leaned down. "Do you really think someone like you can protect her?"

"Yes," he squeaked.

"Can you give her all the devotion she deserves? Can you spend your every waking moment adoring her, cherishing her, and worshipping her as a goddess for the rest of your life?"

"Gee, not asking a lot, are you?" Soul muttered.

"I'm asking _him._"

Chrona gulped. Without taking his gaze from Spirit's face, he replied, "Yes."

Spirit leaned down further, forcing Chrona to bend slightly backwards. "What makes you think you have the right?"

Chrona flinched. "I—I—th-that is—"

Spirit's eyes narrowed, and he gripped the front of Chrona's robe. "You lied to her once. To all of us. Even if you were coerced, can she really trust you after that?"

"Seriously, Spirit," Soul said. "That wasn't his fault. Back off."

Spirit cast a glance in his direction. "As I said, this is between us. Do not interfere."

Chrona was shaking so hard his teeth rattled, but somewhere beneath the fear, he could feel the dull burn of anger spreading through his chest.

After everything Spirit had done, what right did he have to talk about trust? After he'd ruined his own marriage and caused Maka so much pain and heartache, how dare he stand here and try to act like a father?

Chrona knew he didn't deserve Maka. But she'd chosen him, and this man had no right to interfere with her life or her choices.

"I'd die before betraying her," Chrona said, his voice quiet but steady. "That's the truth, whether or not you believe it."

Spirit's hand tightened on Chrona's robe. "Is it, now." His voice was flat, unreadable.

Chrona glared at Spirit and balled his hands into fists, breathing raggedly. "I'm more devoted to her than you'll ever be." His voice started to shake, not with fear, but with rage. "I could never do the awful things you did. I would never hurt her like that. The bond Maka and I have is something you can't possibly understand, and I don't care if you approve of me or not, because _she _does, and that's all that matters. You can threaten me and try to intimidate me all you want, but it won't change anything. I won't let you or anyone else come between us."

A cold, dangerous smile spread across Spirit's lips. "And what will you do to stop me?"

Chrona drew in a deep breath. Then he screamed in Spirit's face.

Spirit released him, staggered backwards, and clamped his hands over his ears. He stood doubled over, head bowed, as Chrona's scream ripped like a knife through the air and vibrated in the ground. When it finally trailed off, Spirit raised his head. A ribbon of blood ran from his nose.

Soul slowly removed his hands from his ears. The scream hadn't been directed at him, so he'd missed the full force of it, but he still looked shaken and pale.

Spirit straightened and wiped away the blood with his thumb. For another moment, he just stared at Chrona with that mask-like face, and Chrona's heart-rate continued to climb. Spirit breathed in slowly through his nose, and somehow, it reminded Chrona of a bull pawing the ground, getting ready to charge.

Chrona's teeth rattled together. _He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me. He's going—_

Spirit flashed a bright smile and gave him a thumbs up. "You pass!"

For a moment, Chrona just stared. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. "Wh-what?" he squeaked at last.

"You pass the test," Spirit said.

Soul stared, mouth open.

Ragnarok burst out of Chrona's back. "Are you fucking _serious? _You're telling me that was all some fucked up hazing ritual? I was getting ready to stab you! What kind of deranged maniac does something like that?"

Spirit pointed at his own chest and said, "A doting father!"

Soul slapped a palm to his forehead.

Spirit ignored him and placed his hands on Chrona's shoulders. Chrona flinched and tensed, bracing himself, but Spirit just smiled. "Any fool could see your devotion. Of course, I had to be _sure_, but it's clear how much you care for her. You saved Maka's life. Don't think I've forgotten that."

"I, um…" Chrona didn't know how to deal with this sudden friendliness. This was too confusing. "Y-you're not…upset?"

"Of course it pains me, that she's growing up so soon. But I knew this day would come." He sighed wistfully. "Little girls can't stay little forever."

As Chrona watched uneasily, Spirit's expression wobbled. Enormous tears welled up in his eyes and splashed down his cheeks. His eyes turned toward the heavens as his face contorted in an open-mouthed grimace, as if he were trying very hard not to sneeze.

Chrona almost _wished _Spirit would try to kill him. This was infinitely more disturbing.

But what he did next was even worse. Spirit buried his face in the crook of one arm and began to cry in howling sobs. Chrona remained shock-frozen. Soul stared, jaw hanging. The sounds coming out of Spirit's mouth were a bit like a sea lion in heat and a bit like a goat being violated with a farm implement, but the overall effect was indescribable.

"M-my little girl…to think that she's sixteen now, that she's in love," he wailed. "Thank God it's someone like you!" He grasped one of Chrona's hands in both his own, squeezing it so hard that Chrona could swear he felt the bones grinding together. "I…I was so afraid that she'd end up with some selfish pig."

"Like you?" Ragnarok said.

A loud sniffle escaped Spirit, and his face started to quiver again. Chrona tried to pull away, but Spirit still held his hand prisoner in a bone-crushing grip, preventing escape. "You don't know how I regret the things I've done!"

Chrona looked at Soul with wide eyes, begging mutely for help. Soul cleared his throat. "Uh, Spirit, I think you're freaking him out a little…"

Spirit didn't seem to hear him. His face was wet with tears, bungee cords of snot dangling from his nose. "Don't ever break her heart!" He grabbed Chrona's shoulders and shook him hard enough to make his head flop back and forth and his teeth clack together. "Don't make the mistakes I made! Give her all your love! Even if you have to wear a chastity belt and hang the key on a golden chain around her neck!"

"Get a grip, you bizarre little man!" Ragnarok shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Chrona remained motionless, frozen with terror, like an injured rabbit hanging from the jaws of a rambunctious dog, clinging to the hope that the beast would lose interest and drop him after awhile.

At that moment, Maka came through the doors of the school. Her jaw dropped. "You! Get away from Chrona!" Her eyes blazed as she stalked toward Spirit, fists clenched; an avenging angel. "If you've been threatening him, I swear, I'll make you regret it!"

Spirit released Chrona, straightened and turned to face her. He inhaled, sucking in his snot, and said, "I give you both my blessing."

Maka stopped in her tracks. "What?"

Spirit turned to Chrona and said, "It goes without saying, but if you ever _do _hurt her, I will murder you." Spirit wiped his soaking wet face with one sleeve, turned, and walked away before anyone could respond.

They watched him go.

"Well, that was awkward," Soul said.

Maka placed her hands on Chrona's shoulders, her gaze anxiously searching his face. "Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"N-no, I'm fine, it was just…a little scary." More than a little. Maka's father was probably the most terrifyingly unpredictable person Chrona had ever met. He'd already decided that he wanted as little contact with Spirit as possible. But then, since Maka also wanted nothing to do with him, that worked out well.

Maka sighed and linked hands with Chrona. "Let's just go home."

He smiled. It was a small, tremulous smile, but real nonetheless. "Okay."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Chrona remembered the rivers of snot pouring from Spirit's nose, the foghorn-like sobs, and winced. Now that he was no longer overwhelmed with fear and confusion, he felt a little embarrassed for the man. "Is it…like that?" he asked nervously. "When I do it?"

"Huh?" Maka looked at him.

"When I cry, I mean? Is it anything like…"

"No! God, no!" She waved her hands frantically, as if to dispel the notion. "It's not at all."

"You'd tell me if it was, right?"

"Trust me, man," Soul said, "it's nothing like that."

"Oh." The tension eased out of his shoulders. "Good."

* * *

><p>"You found her like this?" Stein asked, his breath pluming in the cold air of the morgue.<p>

Sid nodded. "It may be a random murder. But given the unrest in Death City and the presence of a witch nearby, we can't dismiss the possibility that this is connected to something bigger."

Stein stared down at the corpse on the autopsy table: a girl, perhaps sixteen, her blue eyes glazed in death, her pale throat sliced open. He probed the wound with gloved fingertips. The knife had gone deep, severing her carotid artery and vocal chords and cutting into the esophagus.

On one level, he felt regret at the loss of an irreplaceable human life. On another level, he quivered with eagerness at the puzzle of flesh before him.

He pried open her mouth. He wasn't expecting to find anything unusual there—it was just part of the examination—so he was surprised to glimpse something white stuffed into her throat. He reached in and carefully removed a folded up, bloodstained piece of paper. He removed his bloody gloves, put on a clean pair, and unfolded the paper. On it was written a single word: _Chrona._

Magic tingled against his fingertips, even through the gloves. He recognized the spell; a minor spell, practicable by anyone with a bit of magical talent, but useful nonetheless.

Sid leaned closer. "What is that?"

"A message. It will reveal itself only to the person for whom it's intended."

"Chrona? This is connected to him, then?"

Stein nodded. "Whoever killed this girl may be the same person who sent the kishin egg after him."

His fingers tightened on the paper. Hadn't that child suffered enough? After all he'd been through…

It wasn't fair, but of course, nothing had ever been fair. Stein carefully placed the message within a plastic evidence bag and sealed it shut.

"What are you going to do?" Sid asked. His tone was as gruff as ever, but Stein could sense his concern.

"This is all part of the enemy's plan," he said. "If we show this to Chrona, we'll be playing right into their hands."

"But if we don't, we'll never know what the note says," Sid replied.

A puzzle, indeed. "Before anything else, we need to contact Shinigami-sama and tell him what happened."

Stein peeled off his gloves, went into the bathroom, breathed on the mirror, and traced Shinigami's number into the surface.

* * *

><p>"Is Spirit always like that?"<p>

"No," Maka said, "usually he's worse." She snuggled against Chrona's shoulder.

Before last night, they'd always cuddled on Maka's bed. She'd never thought much about it, but Chrona's room had always felt somehow forbidden, as if she'd be intruding on his privacy. Now, though, it felt perfectly natural to be here.

"For a minute, I really thought he was going to kill me," Chrona muttered.

"He wouldn't. He's all bark." She stroked Chrona's hair. "If he ever _does _try to hurt you, I'll eviscerate him with my bare hands. But since he seems to be okay with us being a couple, it probably won't come to that." Of course, Spirit still didn't know they'd had sex. But she'd worry about that when—if he found out.

"I'm j-just glad he doesn't actually hate me."

She smiled. "It's impossible to hate someone as nice as you."

Chrona was silent, probably thinking about the mob of angry citizens, the boys who threw rocks at him in the streets.

"Those people don't really knowyou," she pointed out. "And they don't matter, anyway."

He blinked. "How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

Ragnarok popped out of his back and said, "'Cause you're so simple, that's why! Anyone can see through your empty little head."

Maka glared at Ragnarok. "That's not—"

He vanished back into Chrona's body with a snicker, and she sighed.

Her gaze wandered around Chrona's small bedroom. It was nearly as bare as when he'd moved in, but she could see a few personal touches on his desk; a small, multi-colored stone he'd picked up somewhere, a black notebook for writing poetry, and the framed photo of him and Maka at Kid's party. And of course, there were medications, rows of amber pill bottles filled with antidepressants, mood stabilizers, and sedatives.

Chrona nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Maka rested a hand on the small of his back. "So how does it feel?" she asked.

"Feel?"

"Do you feel any different? Now that we've…"

"Oh." He was silent a moment, as if weighing the question in his mind. "I'm relieved," he said. "I was scared about it for a long time. About…showing you that, and about what would happen if we ever tried. I'm not scared anymore. And I'm happy…th-that I could be close to you like that. That I could please you." His gaze lifted to hers. "I hope I did."

"You did."

A shy smile touched his lips. But it faded a moment later.

"Chrona?"

"I just hope nothing bad happens," he murmured.

She touched his shoulder, where she'd bitten him. "You're worried about this?"

A small nod.

"I think it'll be fine. That's what I asked Dr. Stein about, actually."

"Y-you told him?"

"Nothing too personal," she assured him. "I just asked if the black blood was dangerous to me, but he said that my Anti-Demon Wavelength protects me from madness. So don't worry about it, okay?"

"I'll try not to." He gave her a tiny smile. It faded quickly.

After a few minutes of silence, she asked, "Are you thinking about anything?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

He stared down at the bed covers. "You told me not to talk bad about myself. I know you don't like it. S-so I shouldn't say what I'm thinking."

Gently, she brushed his hair from his eyes and tucked a lock behind one ear. "You know," she said, "I bit _you_."

"I know. But…I…"

"But nothing. No matter what happens, it's not your fault. There's nothing you need to feel guilty about. Okay?"

"Okay." He smiled, but still, his eyes hid from hers.

Maka sighed softly.

She knew it wasn't that easy. Guilt was woven into the fabric of his soul, instilled there by years of Medusa's cruelty and contempt. It was like an old war wound that flared up at the slightest change in the weather; it was deep inside him, too deep to be touched by words or reason.

Her gaze strayed again to Chrona's desk, to the rows of pill bottles. If all that medication couldn't erase the sadness from his eyes, it was probably arrogant to think that her little words could heal him.

But damned if that would stop her from trying.

She placed a finger under his chin and gently lifted it. "Will you do something for me, Chrona?"

"Yes, Maka?"

"Tell me something you like about yourself."

His mouth opened slightly in surprise. "Something I like?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Um…" He closed his eyes, and his forehead scrunched up as he thought. He was silent for a long moment, and Maka waited patiently. "I'm…a good cook?" He opened his eyes and gave her an uncertain look. "I'm getting better at it, anyway."

Maka nodded. "Keep going."

"I'm, uh…I'm a pretty good swordsman. And I guess I like my nose—"

She blinked. "Your nose?"

"W-well, I don't really like my hair or my eyes or my feet or anything else about my body, but I think my nose is okay. I'm not saying it's anything special, but…"

She giggled softly.

"D-did I say something weird?"

"Not at all. You _do _have a cute nose."

"You think so? Really? You're not just teasing?"

"I could stare at it all day."

His cheeks flushed. "You _are _teasing." He pulled a pillow over his head, hiding his face. "I feel silly now."

"Chrona, I'm not teasing." She tugged on the pillow. "Come out, please?"

He peeked out from under the pillow.

She leaned forward and kissed the bridge of his nose. "It's perfect. Every part of you is perfect."

His eyes widened a little.

Ragnarok burst out of his chest, and Maka jerked back in surprise. "Hey, I'll tell you what _I _like about you. I can do _this_—" He grabbed Chrona's cheeks and pulled. "—and you can't stop me!"

"Oww, Ragnarok, don't…"

"Seriously, you're like a human stress ball," Ragnarok said. "It's very relaxing." He kept squishing and pulling Chrona's face like clay, ignoring Chrona's weak sounds of protest.

Maka grabbed Ragnarok's arms. "I've told you not to interrupt us when we're having a serious conversation," she said, frowning.

"Oh yes, that was a _very_ serious conversation you were having about his pwecious widdle nose. _Fuck. _I swear, when you two are alone together, it's like this endless flood of soppy, nauseating adorability. You're like a basket of kittens wearing little bowties and crapping out sparkly pink hearts. Do you know what it's like for me to _listen _to this crap all day? It's like my ears are being raped with rainbows."

"So don't listen in!" she snapped.

"Like I can help it! Believe me, if I could turn off my ears I _would._"

"Well, you'll just have to p-put up with us," Chrona said.

"Shut up!" Ragnarok pulled up the hem of Chrona's robe. Chrona yelped, flailing, and tried to push his robe down, but Ragnarok yanked it up, exposing his boxers.

Maka grabbed the Weapon's little arms again. "Why are you always pulling up his robe? Are you that interested in his underwear?"

Ragnarok stared at her blankly for a moment. "What? You think I—_no, _damn it! I don't give a shit about his underwear! I just like humiliating him."

Maka gave him a deadpan stare.

"What? You…_no! _I don't mean it like that, you sicko!"

Maka blinked innocently. "I didn't say anything."

Ragnarok flailed his arms. "Bullying Chrona is an _art, _damn it! You don't get it! You just have a disgusting mind, you weird…nose fetishist, you!" He recoiled into Chrona's body.

Chrona gave Maka a puzzled look. "What was that about?"

She smiled and said, "Never mind. Let's see, now, where were we?"

"Huh? Oh. Right. Things I like about myself." His gaze shifted away.

She stretched out next to him and propped her cheek up on one hand. "Don't second guess yourself. Just say whatever comes into your head."

His brows knitted together. "I'm…k-kind? Or at least, I try to be…"

She gave him an encouraging smile.

"I'm, um…I'm a good friend. A good listener. And…" His expression turned serious. "I'd do anything to protect my friends. To protect you."

Her expression softened. "I know you would." She lay a hand over his. "You're selfless. That's a wonderful quality, you know."

He lowered his gaze. "I don't think I am, though. I mean…I'm not sure if I want to protect you because it's the right thing or if it's just because I love you and need you so much. If I'm doing it because I need you, isn't that selfish?"

"Not at all. Everyone needs someone. That's what makes us human."

"But you don't need anyone."

"Of course I do, silly. I need all my friends. And I need you. If people didn't need each other, there wouldn't be any love. Just like there can't be courage without fear, and there can't be empathy if we don't understand suffering. Our weaknesses give us our virtues."

Chrona sat up, drawing his knees to his chest, and rested his chin atop them. "How do you know so much?"

"Well, I didn't come up with that. My mom told me something like it a long time ago. But I think it makes sense. Don't you?"

Chrona nodded. The sadness had gone from his eyes, and in its place was a deep, solemn concentration, as if he were filing the words away in his head.

"Now…" She held up a finger. "Repeat it all back to me. All your good traits."

A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Yes, Maka-sensei," he said, a playful note in his voice.

A moment later, his expression turned serious again. He took a deep breath and spoke softly, steadily. "I'm selfless. I'm kind. I'm a good swordsman and a good friend and a good listener and a good cook. And, um. I have a cute nose?" He looked at her uncertainly, as if asking whether he'd gotten it right.

She nodded. "Right."

He gave her another little smile, looking shyly pleased.

She pushed him gently to the bed and kissed his pale lips.

Chrona's eyes slipped shut, lips parting under hers. Their tongues touched, flicked against each other. She ran her fingers through hair as soft and pink as cotton candy, and her teeth scraped lightly over his bottom lip. His breath caught.

She loved how sensitive he was, how responsive. Every little touch produced some reaction; a sigh, a moan, a blush. It was addictive, feeling him respond. It made her want to do more. She kissed his jaw. His head tipped back, exposing his long, pale neck, and she pressed another kiss to his racing pulse.

His palms slid down her sides and settled on her hips. He hesitated...then one hand slipped beneath her blouse, and his fingertips grazed the underside of her right breast, sending a pleasant shiver through her.

Their bodies were pressed closely together, and she felt him growing hard beneath his robe. He tensed slightly, but didn't pull back.

It was different, now. They could touch like this now without embarrassment or awkwardness, without stammered apologies.

His thumb brushed across her nipple, but he didn't do more. He just waited, looking up at her, a silent question in his eyes.

Her heartbeat quickened. This was still so new. Maybe after the emotional rawness of last night, they both needed some time to catch their balance.

But she wanted more. They both did. She could see it in his eyes; they'd gone wide and soft and hazy, as if he were in a trance. It was the way he'd looked last night, when—

Something flickered in her peripheral vision, and she looked up. The mirror on Chrona's desk glowed with a soft, pulsing light. Someone was calling him.

"Maka?"

"Go ahead," she said reluctantly.

Chrona gently untangled himself from Maka's embrace, fetched the mirror, and brought it back to the bed. When he touched the surface, Stein's face appeared, his expression grim. Chrona frowned. "Dr. Stein?"

"Hello, Chrona." Stein usually smiled when he said hello to Chrona. He didn't smile, now. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but this is important. Can you come to the Death Room?"

"What's going on?"

"I'll explain once you're here. It's probably best that you come alone."

Maka leaned over the mirror, peering into it. "Why?"

"This matter concerns Chrona."

"D-Dr. Stein, it's okay. Anything you can tell me, you can tell her."

Stein's gaze flicked from Chrona to Maka and back again. He gave a small nod. "Very well, Maka. If it's all right with Chrona, you may accompany him. Your presence might help stabilize him, anyway. Just be here soon." The image winked out.

Maka took a deep breath. "Well, I guess we'd better get ready."

Chrona nodded.

Maka gave him a smile, but a boulder of dread filled her stomach. If Stein thought Chrona would need "stabilizing," then this was going to be bad.

* * *

><p>They arrived in the Death Room shortly after.<p>

Chrona was trembling visibly. Maka reached over, linked her fingers with his, and gave his hand a little squeeze; a reminder that he wasn't alone. He looked over and gave her a wobbly smile in return. His palm was damp with sweat.

Dr. Stein was already there, standing next to Shinigami-sama. Stein pulled a square of paper from his pocket and extended it to Chrona. Dried blood stained the paper's edges. Chrona's name was scrawled across the top, but aside from that, it was blank.

"What is this?" Chrona asked, echoing the question in Maka's head.

Stein's expression was grim. "I found this in the mouth of a young woman who was murdered last night. I don't know what it says. It's a message intended for you, and as such, the words will only reveal themselves to you."

Chrona's eyes grew even wider. "S-someone was murdered?"

"Who's responsible?" Maka asked.

"Well," Stein said, "that's what we're trying to find out."

Slowly, with trembling fingers, Chrona accepted the paper. He stared at it. To Maka's eyes, it remained blank. But as she watched, the color drained from Chrona's face, and his eyes grew wider and wider.

"Well?" Stein asked.

Slowly, Chrona looked up. His fingers tightened on the paper. "Y-you can't read it?" His gaze moved from Stein to Maka.

Maka shook her head. "I don't see anything."

Chrona looked down at the paper again. His gaze skittered back and forth.

"I-it says…" His tongue crept out to wet his lips. "It says…th-that if you don't expel me from Shibusen and banish me from Death City, more people will die."

Silence hung over the Death Room. Maka said nothing, but a deep, hot rage spread through her, burning in her veins. Her hands bunched into trembling fists.

Those people wouldn't leave him alone. All Chrona wanted was to live in peace, but they just wouldn't stop.

"Well," Shinigami said, "this is unexpected." He rubbed his chin—or rather, the chin of his mask—with one enormous hand. "Of course, many people in Death City want Chrona expelled, but it astonishes me that anyone would go this far. Rather irrational, isn't it?"

"There's been a lot of anger among the citizens," Stein said. "Anger warps people's minds. Still, I am shocked, as well."

Chrona bowed his head. His hands, still gripping the note, trembled. Sweat trickled down his temples.

"You're not going to be swayed by cowardly tactics like this, are you?" Maka asked. Her voice quivered with barely restrained fury. "If you expel Chrona, you'll be doing exactly what the murderer wants. Their plan will have worked."

"We're not going to expel him, Maka," Stein said.

Shinigami nodded. "I'll issue a curfew to the citizens and send out patrols to monitor the streets at night. We'll find the killer and nip this problem in the bud. No one else will die."

Chrona didn't look up.

"Chrona?" She leaned closer. No answer. His unsteady breathing echoed through the Death Room. "Chrona, say something, please."

"I'm fine." His voice emerged low and calm, despite the tremor in his hands.

* * *

><p>That night, at dinner, Chrona was silent. He barely picked at his lasagna and chocolate cake. Blair sat near his feet in cat form, looking up at him with concern. Her ears drooped.<p>

Chrona had already told Soul and Blair about the incident, but Maka couldn't shake the feeling that he was keeping something from them. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

At last, he pushed his plate away and said, "I think I'm going to my room."

"Hey, Chrona," Soul said quietly, "not gonna do anything crazy, are you?"

He gave them a painfully fake smile. "No. I won't. I'll be okay, I think, I just...need to be alone for a little while."

"Hey, grab another slice of cake before you go, willya?" Ragnarok said.

Soul handed him a piece of cake on a plate, and Chrona quietly retreated to his room.

Soul and Maka sat in silence for a few minutes.

"This is hitting him pretty hard," Soul said quietly. "But then, I guess anybody would be depressed." He leaned back in his chair. "I still can't believe that someone would murder an innocent person just to get Chrona kicked out of Shibusen. It's crazy."

Maka stared down at her plate. "I just wish he'd talk to me." She wanted to respect his boundaries, to trust him when he said he'd be okay. But it hurt, knowing he was in pain and not being able to comfort him.

She sighed softly. She'd check on him in a little while, she decided.

She got up and washed her plate. Then she drifted into the living room to check the mail, which was in a pile on the coffee table. She hadn't gotten the chance to look through today's or yesterday's.

Maka sat on the couch and shuffled numbly through bills and junk mail until a post card slipped out from between two envelopes and fell into her lap. She picked it up. It was from London; it showed Buckingham Palace silhouetted against a blazing sunrise. Her heartbeat quickened.

A postcard from Mama.

She turned it over. There wasn't much written on it. There never was. Usually, there was a single phrase—_Missing you, _this time—scrawled across the white space. Sometimes it was just one word, like _courage, _the word which had been her talisman in that final battle…as if, she thought, her mother had somehow known she'd need it. Or maybe it had been a lucky coincidence.

Either way, those brief messages were all she had left of Mama, so she clung to them.

But this time there _was_ something else; a seven-digit number, penciled in along the bottom edge of the card. Maka's heartbeat quickened. A tremor crept into her hands.

The number wasn't from Death City, so it couldn't be reached by mirror. She picked up the phone next to the couch and punched in the digits. Her pulse galloped in her throat.

After all these long months of nothing, she would finally hear her mother's voice. She would finally be able to talk to her. She could tell her about everything, about her accomplishments, her fears, her joys. About Chrona. She could tell her about what had happened today. Her mother would know what to do.

After the third ring, someone picked up, and a man's voice said, "Hello, this is the Dolphin Hotel. Can I help you?"

"Hello. I'd like to speak to Kami Albarn. She's staying here, isn't she?"

"I'm so sorry," he replied in his crisp British accent. "You just missed her."

"Oh." Maka's heart sunk a little. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"She won't. What I mean to say is, she checked out earlier today. She mentioned something about leaving the country, but I don't know where she's bound."

For a moment, Maka just stared into space, her mind a shocked blank. A heavy numbness filled her chest.

Her mother was already gone? Again? "Did she leave any kind of contact information, or—did she say she was expecting a call, or anything?"

"I'm afraid not."

Maka sat in silence.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you," the man said. "I do hope it wasn't urgent."

"No…no, it's okay." Her own voice sounded oddly distant, as if she were listening to someone else speak. "Thank you." Maka hung up.

She heard approaching footsteps. Soul's shadow fell over her. She didn't look up.

"I don't understand," Maka whispered. "Why give me a number, if she wasn't planning to stay?"

"Maybe she had to leave suddenly," Soul said. "Maybe something happened."

Maka hugged her knees to her chest. "Maybe."

She'd always believed that her mother was on some important secret mission, being chased around the globe by sinister shadowy figures—that she _wanted _to contact Maka, but couldn't, because it was too risky.

More and more, that notion was starting to feel like a childish fantasy.

"I'm going to my room," she said. "I need to study."

"You and Chrona both?"

She ignored the remark, grabbed the postcard, and retreated to her bedroom. She shut the door and flopped down on the bed, staring at the number written on the bottom of the card.

Why had Mama even bothered? Had she just wanted it to _look_ like she was making an effort?

It was stupid to get upset over this, Maka thought. If she'd just gotten the usual postcard with the usual brief, scrawled message, it probably would've brightened her mood. But seeing that number, feeling the lurch of hope, only to realize that her mother hadn't cared enough to stay an extra day at her hotel…

Even if she'd had to leave suddenly, she could have left contact information, couldn't she? Or maybe she was afraid to talk to Maka, after all these months. Maybe she was too ashamed to face the daughter she'd abandoned.

_Abandoned. _Before now, Maka had avoided using that word, even in the privacy of her own head, because she'd always believed—always told herself—that her mother was coming back.

"It's been a long time, Mama," she whispered, staring at the postcard. "All these months, and not a single phone call. Not even a letter. Don't you have anything to say to me?"

Her vision blurred. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand. "Spirit's a creep, but at least he's _here_. Aren't parents supposed to be around? They're not supposed to just disappear, are they, Mama?" Her fingers tightened on the postcard, crumpling the stiff paper.

A part of her wanted to throw it out. But she couldn't.

She set the crinkled card on the nightstand and stared out the window. The sun hung low in the sky, drowsy-eyed, drool hanging from one corner of its mouth.

A lump filled Maka's throat, but she choked it down. No more moping, she thought. She pushed herself to her feet, walked numbly over to her desk, and sat down to study. But a shadow hung over her mind. Anxieties stirred deep in her brain, like shifting fog, and she found her thoughts drifting back to the bloodstained note.

Strange, she thought. If the murderer's goal was to have Chrona expelled, why had the message been addressed to him and not to Shinigami-sama? Why had they bothered to hide the words with magic? Maybe they'd wanted to ensure that Chrona saw the message too, but still…something didn't add up.

She thought about the look in Chrona's eyes; flat and empty, yet strangely calm, as if he'd come to some decision.

-To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

Chrona lay on his side, hugging his pillow as he stared out the bedroom window. He was thinking about the girl who'd been murdered last night.

He had no idea who she was. Dr. Stein hadn't even told him her name. Just a citizen who'd been going about her life, someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, someone whose friends and family were undoubtedly grieving right now.

Just one more innocent person who had died because of him.

He heard a soft knock at the door. "Chrona?" Maka called.

Chrona hugged his pillow tighter.

"Chrona? Are you all right?"

He knew that if he didn't answer, she'd just get worried and come in anyway. "I'm fine." His voice emerged weak and a little shaky.

"Can I come in?"

He almost said yes. He _wanted _to. But if he let her in now, he would fall apart. It had taken all his willpower to hold himself together during dinner.

He couldn't lose his resolve, not now.

"I'm okay, really." Somehow, he managed to get the words past the lump blocking his throat. "I just need to get some sleep."

A pause. "You don't have to face this alone, Chrona," she said quietly.

The lump in his throat swelled. He shut his eyes tight, squeezing back tears. He didn't dare speak, knowing that if he did, he'd start crying.

He needed her comfort now more than ever, needed the gentle motion of her fingers through his hair, the warmth of her arms around him, soothing away the ache in his chest, making him feel safe and loved. He wanted to let her in.

But he couldn't. Regardless of what she said, he knew this was something he needed to deal with himself. "I need to be alone." The words were little more than a whisper, but he knew she heard them. "I'm sorry."

A long silence. "I'm going to bed now," she said. Her voice was flat and empty. "I'll see you in the morning." He heard the faint creak of footsteps as she walked away. Chrona buried his face against his pillow.

He hated this. He felt like an awful person for causing her so much hurt and worry…but he knew himself too well. His will was weak. Faced with her questions, he would crumble; he would tell her everything. He'd never been able to hide anything from her.

Heat prickled between his shoulder blades, and Ragnarok emerged. He leaned down, peering into Chrona's face. "So what did that note really say?"

"You couldn't read it?"

"No, you heard Bolt-head. It was only for you."

"Then how did you know I was lying?"

"I just know. So what'd it say?"

There was no point in hiding the truth from Ragnarok. He was going to find out anyway. Chrona curled into a ball. "It said that I should leave Death City and walk south into the desert, alone," he whispered, "and that if I didn't…" His throat clenched. He gulped. "Ih-if I didn't…Maka would be the next to die."

A low whistle. "Man, that witch fights dirty. She _is _the one behind this, isn't she?"

Chrona nodded. He wanted to believe that it was just a bluff, that the witch couldn't actually carry through on her threat. But he couldn't take the chance.

"So what are you gonna do?" Ragnaork asked.

"You know I can't stay here. I have to go."

"Are you kidding?" Ragnarok grabbed his ear and pulled, making him wince. "After all this, you're just going to run away _again_?" he growled. "Haven't we been through this before? If you run off, Miss Bossypants will come after you and drag you back by the scruff of your neck."

Miss Bossypants? Well, he guessed that was an improvement over "annoying cow."

Chrona pushed Ragnarok's hands away from his face. "I'm not running away. I'm going to find the witch. She's the one behind all this, so if I kill her, it will end."

"And if she kills _you_?"

"Then that's that. But even if I die, I'll take her with me."

"Fucking brilliant plan, Chrona. I know you're the 'noble sacrifice' type, but I'm sure as hell not. Have you forgotten you're sharing this body?"

Chrona lowered his gaze. "I haven't forgotten," he whispered. "You know I can't fight without your help. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that it's like this for you…that you're stuck with me. I know it's not fair. I—I don't want you to die. You're my friend, and…"

"Chrona? If you keep going, I'm going to give you the mother of all wedgies."

"Sorry."

"If one of us dies, then we both die. That's just how it is. I don't expect you to apologize and make gay little speeches. But if we're gonna lay our asses on the line, I want to at least know you've thought it through and you're not just rushing out there on some dumb heroic impulse."

"I don't know what else to do. I can't let things like this keep happening. I've caused so much trouble and pain to the people I love, and now some innocent person is dead because of me, and if I don't do something, Maka will be in danger. If I tell the others, everyone will just try to protect me again. I can't keep being protected. I need to end it, one way or another."

Silence.

"You're seriously set on doing this?" Ragnarok asked at last.

"Yes."

"How will you even find this witch?"

"She'll find me. It's me she wants, after all."

Another long silence. Then Ragnarok huffed in annoyance. "Fine. If we're gonna do this, let's fucking do it. Then we can come home and get on with our lives."

Chrona looked up at him, surprised. "Home?"

"Well, this isour home now, isn't it?"

"Ragnarok…you…"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not into all that huggy-huggy friendship crap. But by now it's pretty clear that we're here to stay, so that makes it home, right? So go ahead and say your big long mushy goodbye to Maka. I'll plug my ears 'til it's over, then we'll go kick some witchy ass."

"Wh-what? You think I should tell Maka I'm going? But…"

"What, you're not planning to just sneak off, are you? I mean, I don't give a damn one way or the other, but leaving without saying anything would be pretty lame." He vanished into Chrona's back.

Chrona lay in bed for awhile longer, still curled around his pillow. Doubts stirred within him.

Ragnarok was right. Sneaking off felt wrong. Especially since he'd barely looked at or spoken to Maka since the meeting in the Death Room.

But if he told Maka what he was planning, she wouldn't let him go. Not alone. Either she'd try to keep him here, or she would insist on coming with him, and then if she got hurt, it would be his fault.

Chrona slid out from under the covers and changed out of his pajamas, into his robe and shoes. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't think about what he was doing, or he'd lose his courage.

_She'll be worried when she wakes up tomorrow and you're not there. _The thought popped into his head, and he froze, one hand on the doorknob.

Maybe he should leave a note. But he didn't know what he would say, and the longer he stayed, the greater his chances of getting caught.

He eased the door open and crept down the hall.

He was protecting his friends, he reminded himself. Protecting her.

A vision of Maka's face, her smile, filled his mind. For a moment, he couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the sudden, desperate urge to see her one last time before he left. She was probably asleep. Maybe if he just peeked into her room…one last stolen glance at her sleeping face…

No. He couldn't risk it.

Silently, he slipped out into the night.

* * *

><p>Maka lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. She glanced at the clock. It was past midnight.<p>

She'd been tossing and turning for the past hour, thinking about Chrona. She kept telling herself that she needed to trust his word. Trust was important in a relationship, wasn't it? If he said he was okay, that he just needed to be alone, she ought to respect that.

She still hated it. The postcard incident had left her raw and vulnerable, and having Chrona shut her out just made it worse.

She needed to get some sleep. Things always looked better in the morning. But there was a tiny itch in the back of her brain that wouldn't leave her alone; the fear that if she got up to check on Chrona, she'd find his room empty. Silly, she knew. Paranoid. But still.

With a sigh, Maka climbed out of bed. Clad in her striped pajamas, she walked down the hall and paused outside his door.

He might be asleep now. She shouldn't disturb him. But she knew she wouldn't get any rest until she allayed her fears.

She knocked on his door. "Chrona?" No answer. She tried again. "Chrona, it's me. I'm coming in, okay?" She opened the door.

Maka stared at the empty bed. Her stomach dropped. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. _Easy. He might just be in the bathroom, or getting a glass of water._

She checked the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen. Nothing.

Maka stood, back rigid, hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her teeth pressed into her lower lip until she tasted the copper of blood.

How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn't she stayed by his side?

She rushed to Soul's bedroom and knocked on his door. She kept knocking until an exasperated voice called, "Coming! Knock it off, jeez!"

A moment later, the door opened. Soul stood there in his boxers and an oversized t-shirt, his hair sleep-mussed, his eyes cloudy. After one look at her face, the irritation vanished from his expression. "What's going on?"

"Chrona's gone," she said.

Without hesitation, Soul grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on. "You contact Shinigami-sama and tell him. I'll get my motorcycle ready."

No shock, no delay, just quiet, competent action—and through her fear, she felt a flicker of relief and gratitude.

* * *

><p>"What are we doing here?" Ragnarok asked. He settled atop Chrona's hair, peering down at him. "I thought we were going to fight the witch."<p>

"I need to think." Chrona sat on a bench near a tiny pond surrounded by trees, in the park where he and the others usually came for resonance practice; the greenest spot in Death City. Moonlight stole the color from the trees, turning them a dusky gray.

He was doing this for Maka's sake. So why did he feel like he was betraying her? It wasn't right to let her keep shouldering his burdens for him, was it? This was his problem, so he should take care of it on his own.

But he and Maka were a couple now. Their lives were intertwined. Maybe that meant there was no such thing as "his problem" or "her problem," only "their problems."

He looked down at his hands, interlaced in his lap. His thumb ran slowly back and forth over his knuckles. "Ragnarok…do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

"How the hell should I know? Anyway, I thought you'd made up your mind."

"I thought I had. But now I wonder if you were right. I wonder if I _am _just running away." His interlaced hands tightened. He kept thinking about how Maka would feel if she woke up the next morning and he was gone. Would she be confused? Scared? Sad?

He pressed his hands against his temples. His shoulders trembled.

For most of his life, he'd just followed orders. He wasn't good at making choices. He had enough trouble deciding what outfit to put on in the morning, never mind something like this. It felt like two people were wrestling inside his brain, running into walls and knocking things over, turning his mind into a chaotic mess.

"What should I do?" he whispered.

He was talking to himself more than anything, but Ragnarok answered, "How 'bout we get some burritos?"

"…are you serious?"

"Well, you asked what you should do. I'm just giving my opinion."

"I can't even think about food right now."

"I don't get you. There's never been a moment when I _wasn't _thinking about food. But seriously, you can't make a decision like this on an empty stomach. There's an all-night Mexican takeout place just a few blocks from here—"

Chrona sighed. "Not now, Ragnarok." He absently rubbed his midsection. His stomach muscles had been tensed so long, he was starting to get cramps. "My tummy hurts."

"Your tummy. Jeez, what are you, five years old?"

"Sometimes I feel like it." He stared at the pond. Moonlight sparkled on the dark water, like silver sequins.

Maka had come to check on him earlier that night, and he'd told her to leave. If he died fighting the witch, that would be the last conversation they ever had.

"Come on," Ragnarok urged. "You've been sitting here for twenty minutes. We're not getting anywhere like this."

"I guess you're right." He stood and began to walk. Maybe he'd think better if he was moving.

The moon hung overhead, blood dripping between its teeth.

Maka was probably asleep right now, Chrona thought. He hoped she was having sweet dreams.

* * *

><p>"Chronaaaa!" Maka shouted, her voice almost lost under the roar of the motorcycle. She sat behind Soul, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Chronaaaa!"<p>

Moonlight bleached the desert corpse-white, and sand sprayed from under their tires as they rode.

"You sense anything?" Soul called, raising his voice.

"No."

He slowed the motorcycle to a stop and shut off the engine. "Maybe we should try another direction."

"I _should_ be able to sense him, no matter what direction he's in. He can't have gone that far." Maka hopped off the bike. "Let me try again. It's easier out here, with no one else around."

Soul climbed off the bike and stood, hands in his pockets, as Maka stared off into the distance. A breeze rustled her hair and coat. She closed her eyes and reached out with her Soul Perception. All around, she felt vast, empty space. She sensed the tiny souls of desert animals hurrying about in the darkness—mice, snakes, a hawk sailing overhead.

But something was wrong. Her soul-sight felt cloudy, distorted.

Her teeth scraped together. "Why can't I find him? Is something wrong with me?"

"Relax," Soul said. "You're agitated. That's gonna interfere with your focus. Just take a few minutes and breathe."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Right." Maka closed her eyes and bowed her head.

Focus, she thought. Focus on Chrona's soul. She knew his wavelength; a soft, clear light, a gentle warmth. It was out there somewhere.

Still nothing. She opened her eyes and rubbed her forehead. A dull ache suffused her chest. "I can't believe he just…left," she muttered. "I thought he'd stopped running away."

"I don't think he ran away," Soul said quietly. "I think he's trying to take responsibility for what happened."

Her hands curled into fists and tightened. The nails dug into her palms, even through her gloves. "I know that," she whispered. Her shoulders started to tremble, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing grew heavier. "I _told _him he didn't have to deal with this on his own. But even after that…"

He hadn't even left a note. He'd just slipped away in the night. Like Mama.

Beneath the sadness and fear, there was something she hadn't expected: anger. _How could he? _The thought kept running through her head. _How could he?_

Maka trembled harder. She fell to her knees and slammed a fist against the sand. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. _"Damn it!"_

"Maka…"

"I hate this," she said through gritted teeth. She couldn't stop shaking. Tears dripped to the ground. Her hand dug into the sand and closed into a fist, but the sand just slithered between her fingers.

Soul rested a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him," he said, his voice calm and steady.

Maka remained kneeling on the sand, hair hanging in her face. Soul offered her a hand. For a moment, she stared at it through tear-blurred eyes, then grasped it. He pulled her to her feet and hugged her.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly. They didn't often hug; he seemed a bit unsure of himself. "We've found him before," Soul said. "We can do it again."

Maka took a deep, steadying breath. "You're right." She pulled back, wiping tears from her cheeks with the heel of one hand. "Sorry. I'm not myself right now."

His gaze searched hers. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine." Even as she said it, she wondered. Anxiety tugged at her thoughts. A dull, dark fog lay over her mind, and Stein's words echoed in her head: _Black blood is a complex and unpredictable substance. A person's emotional state can also influence her susceptibility._

Was that why she couldn't focus? She had to be careful; had to keep her cool. The more agitated she got, the more the black blood would feed on that agitation.

She wiped the back of one hand across her eyes and exhaled. "When we find Chrona, I'm going to give him the scolding of his life."

A tiny smile tugged at one corner of Soul's mouth. "Are you sure you won't just hug the breath out of him?"

Maka sighed. "Oh, hush." He was right, of course. If—_when _they found Chrona, she'd be too relieved to do more than hold him tight. She straightened and squared her shoulders. "I'm ready to try again."

"I'll help you." Soul stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks."

"No need to thank me. You're not the only one with a stake in this. He's my friend too, you know."

Maka nodded, smiling slightly. "I know." She closed her eyes and allowed her wavelength to flow into Soul's. It was easy and natural, like slipping into a favorite sweater. As they resonated, her Soul Perception expanded outward.

She knew Chrona's wavelength better than her own. She could pick him out of a crowd. If she could just stretch her perception far enough, she could pinpoint his location.

_Focus._

Still, something stood in her way, obstructing her vision; like thick black tar smeared across glass. Her jaw muscles tightened. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

_Focus!_

Behind her, she heard a startled cry, and Soul's hand fell away from her shoulder. "Soul!" She spun around just in time to see a snake slither away from his feet, into the darkness.

He crouched and gripped his ankle. "Shit," he said through clenched teeth. "It bit me."

Maka crouched beside him. "Let me see," she said. He moved his hand, and she saw the two tiny punctures. Her heartbeat quickened. Already, the flesh around the bite was starting to swell. "Hold on." She unbuttoned her coat. "I'll make a tourniquet—"

"Won't do any good," Soul muttered. His breathing had grown heavier, and beads of sweat shone on his brow. His eyes started to glaze over. "Venom's already spreading. Getting dizzy."

A chill slid down her spine. "We've got to get you to a hospital. If I ride the bike, do you think you can hold onto me?"

"I…" A weak groan escaped him. His eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the sand.

"Soul!" She gripped his shoulder. He didn't respond.

Her mind raced. He needed medical attention, and fast, but if he was unconscious, he wouldn't be able to ride with her. She'd have to go back herself and bring help. But she couldn't leave him alone out here, not with the witch lurking somewhere in the desert…

Behind her, someone chuckled; a dry, brittle sound.

Maka leaped to her feet and whirled around. A cloaked and hooded figure stood before her, spots of sickly purple on its bare, pale feet. "Maka Albarn," said a voice from within the hood. The voice was thin and dry, like the rustle of dead leaves. "You're not the one I expected to meet tonight. Still…this could work."

Maka stared, mouth dry. "Who are you?"

The hooded head cocked to one side. Maka glimpsed the lower half of a face, lips twisted into a smile. A purple blotch marred one pale cheek. "That's a good question." Slowly, the figure reached up and tugged down the hood.

The woman's left eye was round and dark, her right eye golden and snake-slit. A matted tangle of hair—white, blonde, and black—spilled over her shoulders. Her smile widened into a grin, and the purple blotch on her cheek split open. Blood oozed down. "I've taken on traits from several of my previous hosts," she said. "I absorbed pieces of their souls to strengthen my own, but I paid a price." She stared down at one purple-splotched hand. "Am I still myself? I wonder."

Maka barely heard the words; she was staring at that single, golden, snake-slit eye. "I killed you," she said.

"Not quite."

Maka took a step back, panting, and cast a glance down at Soul. He lay motionless, eyes rolled back.

"Don't worry about him," Medusa—or the thing that had once been Medusa—said. "The venom isn't lethal. Lately I've felt an odd aversion to unnecessary killing." She touched the corner of her left eye, the dark one. "But then, she was always a bit squeamish about bloodying her hands."

Maka's heart raced. She couldn't fight without Soul. Not against a witch. But she couldn't run, couldn't leave him behind. Cold sweat trickled down her sides. Medusa was right in front of her, and there was nothing she could do. "How did you survive?" she asked, stalling for time.

"I can split my soul, you know. A few fragments escaped before your Anti-Demon Wavelength could consume it completely. But that attack of yours had some…unpleasant side effects." She dug her fingers into the purple blotch on her cheek, splitting it wider. More blood oozed up and dripped to the sand. A sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes lost focus. "It _burns._"

Maka narrowed her eyes. "Serves you right, bitch."

Medusa cocked her head. "I can smell the madness seething inside you." She licked her lips with a half-rotted purple tongue. "You've absorbed some black blood. How did it get into your body, I wonder?"

"None of your damn business."

She took a step closer. "Was it your partner? Or…perhaps Chrona…" Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in shock. "Don't tell me you…"

Maka lifted her chin, looking Medusa in the eye. "What's it to you?"

She blinked a few times. Then she threw her head back and began to laugh, wild, crazed peals of laughter. "You _did! _You really did!"

Maka's jaw clenched. A roar burst from her throat as she charged straight at Medusa, drawing a fist back to slug her.

Medusa thrust a hand out. Her wavelength hit Maka like a brick wall, knocking her backward. Her head struck the sand, and dizziness rushed through her. Black spots raced across her vision as she lay on her back, limbs splayed. She tried to sit up, but her muscles only twitched.

"You're as foolish and impulsive as ever," Medusa said. "I've learned a few new tricks since my rebirth, you know."

Maka gritted her teeth harder and willed her body to move. Still, her limbs remained unresponsive. Rage seethed in her brain like fire. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a faint croak emerged; even her vocal chords wouldn't respond. Her fingers jerked in spasms.

Medusa stepped closer and grabbed a handful of Maka's hair, pulling her head up. She smirked. "That's quite a hateful glare. But you can't do anything, can you? That wavelength I shot into you will keep you paralyzed for awhile."

Another faint croak escaped Maka's throat. Her lips moved, but the words wouldn't come.

Medusa chuckled. "I could kill you easily, if I wanted. But I have other plans." Still gripping Maka's hair, Medusa crouched beside her. "Did Chrona get my little note? By now, I suppose, you know I'm the one who sent it."

Of course. She should have known.

"That child is so easy to manipulate. All I had to do was threaten you. You've got quite a grip on its mind, don't you? I must admit, I'm a little impressed. Even _I _never had Chrona so thoroughly enslaved."

A vein pounded in Maka's temple. The words were obviously designed to provoke her. But why? Why didn't Medusa just kill her? What was she planning to do?

"Of course, you don't see it that way, do you?" Medusa's eyes were flat and cold. "You think you _saved _him. You think you set him free."

Maka's thundering pulse filled her ears. She _had _set him free. She'd freed him from this monster.

"Don't be naïve. He's no more free now than he was with me. You shattered his soul and rearranged the pieces into a shape you found more pleasing, with yourself as the glue holding him together. You killed his only parent, so he'd have no one else to run to. Are those acts of love? Or are you just a greedy little girl who saw a toy you wanted and seized it?"

_No! It wasn't like that!_

"Oh? Did I make you a little angry?"

In a flash, Maka realized what was going on. Medusa was trying to strengthen the madness, to feed it with negative feelings. Even knowing that, Maka couldn't stop the dull burn of hatred from spreading through her chest.

"You've had the same thoughts, haven't you?" The witch yanked her hair, pulling her head up a little further. Her body remained limp as a string-cut puppet, immobile. "Deep down, in the darkest pit of your mind, you know he never had a choice."

_You're lying. He wants to be here. He wants to be with me._

"Of course he wants it. But who _made _him want it?" At the look on Maka's face, she smiled. "No, I'm not reading your mind. You're just very predictable…and your self-delusion is pitifully transparent. Did you think you could just push away those guilty feelings?"

Maka's breath came in sharp spurts. How _dare_ she? After all Medusa had done, how dare she look down her nose and belittle the love Maka and Chrona felt for each other?

"You want to rip my throat out, don't you?" She leaned in. "Why? Are you afraid of my words?"

Medusa was wrong, she thought. Maka wasn't afraid; she was _furious._ Her fingers itched to dig out those mocking eyes. But still, her body wouldn't obey her.

"Rage is a type of madness. But in the end, all madness comes from fear. Anger is simply a way of blocking out that fear." Medusa leaned closer, until her breath hit Maka in the face. Maka winced. She could smell the rot, thick and damp and spongy. She could see the tiny holes in the purplish flesh, the clear pus leaking from them. She shut her eyes.

Medusa leaned closer still, and her lips brushed Maka's ear. "So tell me…" Warm, fetid breath slid over her skin. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Tell me what it was like, when Chrona fucked you."

Maka's eyes snapped open.

"Did you close your eyes and pretend it was male? Or perhaps you believed it to be a girl, before it showed you that absurd body?"

Maka's breathing quickened. The blood throbbed behind her eyes. If only she could _move…_

Medusa's fingers tightened on her hair. "Such perverse appetites you have." Her voice was a warm purr. "A pathetic, monstrous creature like Chrona…a bloodstained killer with the heart of a terrified child…"

_How dare you—how _dare _you talk about him like that—he's worth a thousand of you—you're the one who forced him to kill, the one who made him so afraid, you—_

"Is it the danger that excites you? The knowledge that Chrona could rip you apart like a ragdoll, if it lost control of the madness for even a moment? Do you shiver with pleasure at the thought of the black blood piercing you? Or perhaps you like the power. No doubt you could crush its feeble little heart, if you chose. A few well-chosen words…so easy, like crushing a ladybug between your fingers…"

Maka tried to control the rising black tide of rage. _I'm not like you, you sick bitch. I'd never hurt him. I'd never _want _to._ She yearned to scream the words in Medusa's face. And still, all that emerged from her mouth was a faint whimper.

It shouldn't affect her like this, Maka thought. Medusa didn't understand love, couldn't comprehend tenderness. She was an empty shell, pointing and smirking at all goodness and human decency, like some foul-minded little child scrawling dirty words onto a beautiful work of art. _Don't listen to her, shut her out—_

"Tell me how you did it," Medusa's voice was a low, almost tender whisper, as if she were speaking to a lover. "Did it stick its cock into you? Did you lick its filthy little cunt?"

Maka trembled. Her vision flashed red with each heartbeat. Somewhere beneath the haze of fury was a cold, sick feeling. This was Chrona's _mother._ How could she talk like that about her child? _Don't listen—just trying to get to you—can't—_

"But of course, you can't speak, can you? What a pity." She breathed a small, melodramatic sigh and pulled back. "I'm curious as a scientist, you understand. I didn't think Chrona was capable of sex. Of course, you only used it, but still…"

The sickly sweet, rancid smell of decaying flesh filled Maka's nose, making her sick. Medusa's body was already falling apart. If only she could _move, _Maka could rip it to pieces with her bare hands, could pummel that face to raw meat, could shatter those teeth, crack that skull, rip out that rotting tongue so she couldn't speak those hateful, hateful lies…

"But I suppose that's Chrona's fate, isn't it? It's a slave down to the last cell of its brain, the last particle of its soul, existing only to please its master."

_No, no, no, no…_

"I understand that better than you ever can." Her smile had faded. There was a strange, distant expression on her face. "If you think it can ever be happy living for itself, you're mistaken. It was born to be used by others, whether as a weapon…" She leaned close again, her voice lowering. "Or a whore."

The last of Maka's control snapped.

The darkness inside rose up, filling her, swallowing her thoughts. If she'd had control of her voice, she would have been roaring, screaming like a madwoman.

A soft chuckle. "You're just a little animal, aren't you?" There was something almost like admiration in her voice. "There is such _anger _in you, my child. You would have made a splendid witch."

Fingers, tasting of rot, forced her teeth open.

A cold needle of fear slid into Maka's heart.

"Ordinarily, you know, this wouldn't work," Medusa said. "Your Anti-Demon Wavelength would make possession impossible. But the black blood provides an adequate counterbalance. Now that the Rage has consumed you, I should be able to inhabit your body. Just for a short while, of course…but a short while is all I need." Her smile widened. "Chrona would kill _me_ on sight. But he'll be all too eager to embrace his beloved Maka."

Medusa leaned closer, her lips parting, and Maka glimpsed a scaled nose and beady eyes poking out.

There was a flash of movement, and something lunged into her mouth, squirming and wet and slimy. She gagged, choking, as it wriggled down her throat.

* * *

><p>"We'll have five super-sized beef burritos with extra beef…and no jizz! Don't put any of that nasty jizz in there, you hear me?"<p>

The cashier looked up, staring at Ragnarok with a blank expression. "Sir?"

Chrona ducked his head, his cheeks blazing, and clutched his arm. "H-he means no sour cream."

"Yeah, like I said."

Chrona had spent the past fifteen minutes walking the streets of Death City and trying to think, but Ragnarok just kept talking about burritos, and his chatter was like a buzz of static filling Chrona's already confused mind. So he'd finally relented and gone to the all-night Mexican takeout place. It might quiet him down awhile, at least.

"Anything else?" the cashier asked.

"A soda," Ragnarok said. "Biggest size you have."

"What kind?"

"Gimme a little of everything."

The cashier rung up a total, and Chrona fished in the pocket of his robe, only to remember that he'd left his money at home. He shuffled his feet. "Um, actually, cancel all that." He hung his head, his hair falling over his eyes like a curtain, his cheeks burning. "I c-can't pay."

"Aw, you're shitting me!" Ragnarok said.

"S-sorry." Chrona quickly left the restaurant and walked down the street, still clutching his arm. He stopped to lean against the wall of a nearby building.

"What are we supposed to do for food now?" Ragnarok asked. "I'm not going into battle on an empty stomach."

Chrona stared down at his square black shoes and chewed his thumbnail. Maka's face filled his mind. Her voice echoed in his memory, telling him he didn't have to face his pain alone.

Chrona had left the apartment prepared to die in battle, if it came to that. But wasn't dying just another form of running away? "M-maybe…we should go home."

"We're not gonna fight, then?"

"I don't know."

"Well, tell me when you make up your damn mind." Ragnarok recoiled into his back.

Chrona sighed softly. He needed to talk to Maka. He needed to tell her the truth about what that note had said. After that…well, he'd deal with that when the time came.

He resumed walking, gripping his arm. He rounded a corner—and froze. A tingling jolt of shock ran through him.

Maka was walking toward him down the street, clad in her usual dark coat and white gloves. She moved strangely, staggering from side to side, as if she were drunk. She stopped to lean against a wall, resting both hands against the bricks, her shoulders slumped, her head hanging.

"Maka?"

Slowly, she raised her head. Her eyes were wide and dazed, her face pale.

He ran toward her. "Maka!"

She stumbled toward him. He held out his arms, and she fell into them.

He held her tightly. She was shaking. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm so confused," she whispered, clutching his robe. "I don't know what's happening to me." She looked up at him, green eyes brimming with tears. "Help me." She slumped against his chest.

Chrona smoothed her hair. He'd never seen her like this. "It'll be okay." He kept petting her hair, trying to calm her. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't know." Her hands tightened on his robe. "I…I just need…" Slowly, she lifted her head. A strange look slipped into her eyes, and her lips parted. She leaned upward, her lips almost touching his.

He jerked back. The movement was pure reflex, and it confused him. He'd never felt the urge to pull away from her before.

Small, even white teeth pressed into her lower lip as her wide-eyed gaze searched his face. "What's wrong?" Her voice was tiny and soft, the voice of a lost child. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Something's happened to you," he said quietly. "I think I should get you back home. Where is Soul?"

"Soul is fine." She cupped his cheek. "I need to kiss you." Her lips moved toward his again. "Please, Chrona. Just one kiss?"

Something was very wrong. This didn't feel like Maka. Or was it his imagination?

He looked down into pleading, half-lidded green eyes and said, "What's our word?"

Maka froze. She blinked. "What? Wh-what word?"

"_Our _word."

"I—I don't know what you mean."

His skin went cold. He released her and took a step back.

"Chrona? Chrona, what's wrong? Are you angry at me? Please don't be angry at me, I can't bear it."

"What's our word?" he repeated.

"I don't know! I'm sorry, I—I know it's something I'm supposed to know, but I'm just so confused and—"

"Maka would never forget that," he said. "No matter what."

She stared at him. Something shifted in her eyes. They hardened, growing colder, and her upper lip twitched, as if she were trying not to snarl.

He held a hand out. "Ragnarok."

"Goo-pi!" The sword materialized in Chrona's hand.

The hardness in her expression vanished, and she looked at him with wide-eyed innocence, but it was too late; her mask had slipped. "Chrona," she said in that quivery little voice. "What are you doing?"

"Stop pretending," he said. "I know you aren't Maka. Who are you?"

The hurt look vanished. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Then the corners of her mouth turned up in a thin smile. "No, I'm not Maka," she said, her tone flat and cool. "But this _is _her body. Kill me, and you kill her."

Chrona drew in his breath sharply. He recognized that tone. He couldn't forget it, even if he tried. His stomach turned hollow. His legs began to tremble. "Medusa," he whispered.

"More or less."

He struggled to control his breathing. His knees felt like water, but he pointed the sword at his mother. His mother who was supposed to be dead...but there was no time to wonder how this was possible or why it had happened. His fingers tightened on the hilt. "Let Maka go. Get out of her body."

"What did I just say? You can't hurt me, and your bluffs are painfully unconvincing. Put away your sword, and we'll talk."

The tip of the sword quivered.

What could he do? He couldn't attack. He couldn't force her out of Maka's body. Unlike Maka, he didn't have an Anti-Demon Wavelength—a wavelength which should have protected her from something like this. How…

_The black blood._ His chest clenched. It was his fault.

Medusa hooked her fingers like claws and pressed the nails against Maka's left eyelid. "Put the sword away or I dig out her eye."

Chrona's heart thudded against his ribs. As he watched, her fingertips pressed in around the edges of the socket, and the eye bulged slightly. Chrona bowed his head, and the sword vanished into his body.

She lowered her hand. "Good child."

"Don't call me that," he said. "I'm not your child. Not anymore."

"We'll see about that." It felt so wrong, hearing that icy tone out of Maka's mouth, seeing that calculating look in her pretty green eyes.

He took a deep breath and straightened. "What do you want?"

"You, of course. Your precious blood is the only thing strong enough to drive out this rot." Her voice softened. "I need you, Chrona. Now, more than ever. I'm willing to take you back. I'll forgive you for everything."

"That won't work on me now. I'm not your puppet anymore."

"You can't change who you are. Come to me, child. We'll be one." She took a step toward him. "One body, one mind. No more pain, no more fear." She reached out to touch his face, but he flinched back.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted.

She frowned. "Very well. If that's how you want to do this." She reached into Maka's coat. He glimpsed a flash of metal in the moonlight, and a moment later she was holding a blade to Maka's throat. "You or her, Chrona. You choose."

His breathing sped. Dizziness swam through his head, and he clamped a hand over his mouth and nose to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Ragnarok burst from his back. "The bitch is bluffing!" he said. "She won't kill Maka. If she does, she'll die too."

Medusa laughed, a high, wild laugh. "You have no _idea _how the rot burns. Right now, death looks rather appealing. I'll have your body, or I'll have my oblivion, and I'll take her with me. Your choice."

She wasn't bluffing. Chrona saw the raw desperation in her eyes. She would do it. The only way to save Maka was by offering himself.

Once he understood that, the choice was clear. His breathing and heartbeat slowed as his mind quieted.

"Hey!" Ragnarok grabbed his head. "You're not thinking of _doing _it, are you? I don't wanna share a body with that snake-bitch! You think Maka would want you to cave in? You think she'd want you to sacrifice yourself?"

"No. I know she wouldn't want that." His voice was soft and strangely calm. "But I can't let her die. If one of us has to die, it's going to be me. You'll be okay, Ragnarok. You'll still be the black blood."

"Like hell I'm gonna let that happen! What makes you think Medusa's even going to spare her?" Ragnarok shouted. "Once she has control of your body, she'll kill her and all of our friends! You can't trust a word that snake says! _Hey! _Are you listening to me? Damn it, Chrona!"

He could hear the panic in Ragnarok's voice. "I won't let her kill anyone else," he said quietly.

"How the hell are you going to stop her once she _possesses _you, idiot?"

He felt a dull ache in his chest, a sense of regret that it had come to this. But there was no other choice.

"I'm sorry, Ragnarok."

Maka's—Medusa's—face twisted into a triumphant smile. "Now," she said, "come give your mother a kiss."

Chrona approached. His mind was clear. There was no hesitation, no doubt, even as Ragnarok continued to shout at him and yank his hair. But then, he'd always felt a strange peace when his death was close. If he could die for her, all the better.

But he would drag Medusa down to hell with him. If she thought he'd just meekly turn over control of his body once her soul was inside him, she was mistaken. He was stronger than she thought. Stronger than her.

He leaned forward, until green eyes filled his vision and he felt the tickle of breath against his lips.

This was the last time his lips would touch Maka's. Such cruel irony, that it was Medusa's will inside her body. But Maka was still in there somewhere. Maybe she was still conscious. Maybe she was looking out from within the prison of her own flesh, looking into Chrona's eyes.

His lips touched hers.

Her tongue thrust into his mouth, forcing it wide open. Her teeth scraped against his. Chrona shut his eyes tight, tears stinging the corners.

_Goodbye, Maka._

Something cold and slimy wriggled between his lips, over his tongue, down his throat. There was a jolt. He felt himself sliding backwards, and his vision wavered and blurred…

…then he was standing on a beach, under a clear blue sky. The sky darkened, storm clouds swirling overhead.

Medusa stood near the ocean's edge with her back to him; Medusa as he remembered her, tall and powerful, clad in a dark hooded garment. She stood with her head tipped back, arms raised to the sky. Her shadow sprawled across the sand, sharp-toothed and grinning, like some huge black serpent.

Triumphant laughter echoed across the beach as her shadow writhed and expanded. Tendrils of blackness stretched out from her bare feet and shot through the ground, spreading outward like a thousand snakes, swallowing the beach and ocean in darkness.

Chrona didn't give himself time to think or doubt. He rushed straight at her and tackled her, knocking her to the sand. Medusa looked up at him, eyes narrowed, teeth bared in a smile. "It's too late. You—"

"Shut up!" He drew back a fist and punched her. He felt his fist connect with her cheek, knocking her head to one side.

Medusa stared at him, eyes wide and stunned. "You _hit _me!" she squawked. There was something childishly indignant in her tone, as if they were playing a game and he had broken the rules. "How dare y—"

His fist slammed into her again. "This is for locking me in a dark room!" He hit her again. "This is for starving me!" Again. "This is for making me kill bunnies!" Again. "This is for making me betray my friends!" Again. "This is for trying to hurt Maka!" Her head snapped back and forth as he hit her, giving her no time to retaliate. "This is for being the _worst mother ever!" _He bloodied her nose, mashed her lips against her teeth, pummeled her until her face was a froth of blood and spit. He paused, panting for breath.

She hissed and grabbed his throat, thumbs digging into his trachea. They rolled across the sand, wrestling. Her nails raked his face, ripping through skin. His elbow slammed into her gut, and she gasped, blood flying from her torn mouth.

Overhead, dark clouds swallowed the sun. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. The sea roiled and churned. The ground shook beneath them.

"Stop this!" Medusa screamed. "You'll kill us both!"

"That's the idea," Chrona said between gritted teeth. His fist cannoned into her chin, knocking her head back.

Medusa lunged and sank her teeth into the place where his shoulder met his neck.

The ground shook harder. Then, with a resounding crack, it split open beneath them and they fell into darkness, her teeth still latched into his neck.

-To be continued


	16. Chapter 16

Maka opened her eyes and stared at a blank white ceiling. Her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, and her memories were a chaotic jumble. A faint smell of disinfectants and medicine hung in the air; a smell she recognized. Shibusen's infirmary.

She looked blearily around the room. Her gaze fell on the bed beside her, where Soul lay, half-covered by sheets. His eyes were open. "Hey," he said hoarsely.

"Soul?" Her brows knitted together. "What—" She remembered the snake and sat up, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. They gave me some antivenom and told me to rest for awhile, but I'm fine. Just a little weak. What about you? What happened to you?"

"I…" She trailed off. What _had _happened? They'd gone to look for Chrona in the desert, and then…

A face flashed through her mind—a single golden eye, a mocking smile—and her insides went cold. "Medusa," she whispered. Rage bubbled up within her, like dark lava.

"So it was her, after all?" He didn't sound surprised. Had he already known?

Medusa's laughter echoed through her memory. Maka bit down on her lower lip and focused on the pain, trying to bring her anger under control. This wasn't the time. "Did you see her, too?" she asked Soul.

He shook his head. "I don't remember anything after that snake bit me. But Dr. Stein told me that you and Chrona were found unconscious in the street, and that he could sense Medusa's soul."

_Chrona._ Her stomach turned hollow. "Where is Chrona?"

"A few rooms down. Still unconscious, last I heard."

Maka's pulse quickened. "Is he all right?"

Soul hesitated. "You should go see him," he said quietly.

At those words, a thin chill slid through her. "Is he—"

"Dr. Stein didn't tell me anything else. I just think you should go see him."

Maka's heart knocked against her ribs. She climbed out of bed—her legs wobbled a little, but held—and left the room.

As she walked down the hall, she nearly ran into a tall, white-coated figure. "Dr. Stein…"

"Maka. Glad to see you awake," he said, his expression unreadable. "I was just coming to check on you."

"How is Chrona?"

His face remained blank, but his mouth tightened slightly. "Come with me."

He led her to a white room where Chrona lay in bed, a heart monitor beeping beside him. He was so still, so pale. Maka reached out and curled her fingers around his. His hand lay limp and cool in her grasp. "Chrona? Can you hear me?"

No response.

"He's been comatose since we found him," Stein said.

Her fingers tightened on Chrona's. "How did this happen?"

"How much do you remember?" he asked in response.

She paused, thinking. Her memories were still cloudy, but there were fragments, images. "Medusa possessed my body. She wanted to possess _his_. She used me to get close to him, and then…"

Maka had been helpless, locked somewhere deep inside herself, silently screaming for Chrona not to do it, but he'd chosen to sacrifice himself. To save her.

She pressed a hand over her mouth. Tears swam into her eyes. She remembered the peaceful, sad look in his eyes as he leaned toward her, the warm pressure of his lips against hers, and then…

Then she'd woken up here.

She whirled to face Stein. "Where is Medusa?"

"Her previous host body is dead. I can still sense her soul, but very faintly. I believe that, in the moment she tried to possess Chrona, he seized her soul and dragged it into his subconscious. They're both trapped somewhere deep inside him, engaged in a battle of wills."

"Then…what will happen to him?"

"I don't know." Stein looked suddenly very tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual. "At this point, we can only wait."

He knew something more. She could feel it. "Tell me," she said firmly. "Tell me what will happen."

Stein lowered his gaze, hands hidden in the pockets of his lab coat. She could see the tension in his shoulders. "Their souls are both weakening steadily. At this point, the most likely outcome is that they'll destroy each other." His voice emerged flat and empty. "That's probably what Chrona intended."

For a moment she couldn't speak, couldn't think. It was as if the wind had been knocked out of her mind. "No," she heard herself whisper.

"I'm sorry, Maka."

The rage surged up again, filling her. "I won't let that happen!"

"There's nothing we can do."

Her hands bunched into trembling fists. "I told him that he didn't have to face his pain alone anymore! I told him that we're all in this together! If we don't help him now, then those are just empty words!"

"The situation is what it is. If I could change it, I would. But right now, Chrona is in a place where we can't reach him."

Maka stared down at Chrona's pale, still face, at the faint gray circles under his eyes. He was right here, yet he was so far away.

He'd already suffered so much. Things had just started to go well for him—for them. How could this happen now?

A scream of frustration and pain welled up in her throat, and she choked it down.

She couldn't lose him. She _wouldn't._

"I'm going in," she said.

"You can't."

"I'm already infected with black blood, so it should be easy to match my wavelength with his. I've done it once before—"

"That was a different situation. Right now, both Chrona and Medusa are clinging to life by a thread. We could lose him at any moment. If you're inside him when that happens, you'll be destroyed as well."

She glared at Stein. "What's wrong with you? Don't you _want_ to save him?"

"Of course I do," Stein snapped. He took a deep breath, dug the nails of his right hand into his left wrist, and exhaled slowly. "I care about Chrona." His voice emerged low and tense. "But I care about you, as well. You're both my students. I don't want either one of you to die." His face was pale, grim.

Maka's rage faltered. Stein rarely displayed his emotions, except when he was in the grip of madness…but now, she saw pain etched into every line of his body. Pain he'd been trying to hide.

"If you don't come back, how will I face _him_?" Stein whispered. "How will I tell him that his daughter is dead, and that I allowed it to happen?"

Maka lowered her gaze. Her throat had twisted into a knot, cutting off air and voice.

"Chrona made this choice on his own," Stein said, "and he did it for you…to save you. If you die as well, you'll make his sacrifice meaningless."

Maka's breathing quickened. Her hair hung in her face as she stared at the floor, shaking.

The heart monitor beeped, slow and steady.

Maka placed a hand over her own heart, feeling its beat. Her fingers tightened, twisting the fabric of her shirt. "I don't care about the risks," she said. "If there's even a slight chance that I can save him, I have to try."

"Think about this carefully, Maka. You're not alone in the world. You have your parents and your friends. If you die, all those people will grieve for you. Someday, you may have a family, children of your own—"

"If I'm going to have children with anyone, it will be with him."

Silence.

"Papa would understand," she said. "He would _want_ me to do this. He would know that I'm strong enough to do it. He would _believe _in me."

"This has nothing to do with strength or belief," Stein said, frustration creeping into his tone. "This is a matter of logic—"

"Logic is meaningless when it comes to her," said a voice from the doorway.

Maka looked up, startled, to see Soul leaning against the doorframe. He was smiling. "Soul…"

He stepped into the room. "She's accomplished the impossible before. She defeated a Kishin by punching it in the face. Was _that _logical?"

Stein rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm still trying to figure out why that worked, actually," he muttered. "I have several theories, but none of them quite hold up. But just because she did it once—"

"My point is, she has a knack for succeeding in unexpected ways. I mean, who else would've befriended Chrona in the middle of a battle? She's the craziest girl I've ever met, but somehow, she makes it work. If there's anyone who can save him now, it's her."

Maka's eyes widened.

"Plus, it's pointless to stand in her way," Soul added. "Once she's got her mind set on something, it's like trying to stop an oncoming train."

Stein turned to Maka, his expression unreadable. "Your mind is made up?"

"Yes," she said at once.

His gaze searched hers. She felt a slight tingle in the middle of her chest and knew he was examining her soul, but this time, she didn't try to cover herself. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and met his eyes.

At last, Stein averted his gaze. The tension eased out of his shoulders.

He reached up, cranked his bolt once, and nodded. "If you're going to do it, you'd better do it now. There's no telling how much time he has left. It may already be too late."

"If he's still alive, it's not too late," she said.

"In case you don't return, is there anything you'd like me to tell your father?"

Maka hesitated. "Tell him…tell him thank you. For being there. But I _will_ return."

A slight smile crossed Stein's face. "In that case, you can tell him yourself."

Maka fidgeted. "I guess you're right."

Soul smiled at her and held up one fist. Maka bumped hers lightly against it…then pulled him into a hug. She opened her mouth, but suddenly couldn't speak past the lump in her throat, so she just squeezed him tight.

Soul lay a gentle hand on her back. "Hey, don't start getting all mushy. This isn't goodbye. You're bringing him back, right?"

"Yeah." She pulled back, blinking tears from her eyes, and smiled. "Thanks. For what you said."

"Just the truth."

She steeled herself. Slowly, she pulled a chair to the bedside and sat. Chrona's breathing had grown a little weaker—or was it her imagination?

For a moment, she just looked at him. She smoothed a few locks of messy pink hair from his face, tucking them behind his ear.

She wouldn't let him disappear. She would find him and bring him home—as many times as necessary.

She leaned down, closed her eyes, and touched her forehead to his.

His soul floated inside his chest, near his heart, where it always was…yet it felt somehow far away. She could sense nothing of _Chrona, _of the essence that made him himself. His soul was vast and empty, a lifeless ocean.

But he was still in there. Somewhere.

She matched her wavelength to his and flowed into him. Darkness enveloped her, pulling her deeper, deeper…

* * *

><p>The smell of salt tickled her nostrils. The dull roar of crashing waves drifted toward her on the breeze.<p>

Maka blinked and looked around. She was standing on the same beach where she'd first met Chrona—the _real_ Chrona, the one buried beneath the madness. Sunlight glinted on the water, and the sun drooled overhead, half-asleep.

A few yards ahead, she saw a figure sitting near the water's edge, arms folded atop its knees, waves lapping over its bare feet.

It wasn't Chrona. But it wasn't Medusa, either. Cautiously, she approached. "Hello?"

The figure's head lifted.

It was a young man, around sixteen or seventeen, with wild, shaggy dark hair. He was leanly muscled and sharp-featured. His jeans were ragged and torn at the knees, and his faded black t-shirt bore the image of a skull. There was an X-shaped scar on the bridge of his nose.

He frowned, peering at her. His eyes were a curious shade, somewhere between gray and violet. "Well, there goes the neighborhood," he said.

Maka's jaw dropped. _"Ragnarok?"_

"Who were you expecting?" He dug in one ear with his pinkie. "The Pope?"

She snapped her jaw shut. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" he growled. His voice was a little deeper than usual, more similar to how it had been when Maka first met him. "I got dragged inside along with Chrona and the old bag. Figures. Whenever he decides to nobly sacrifice his ass, _I _end up getting screwed over."

"So what happened? Where did they go?"

"They started slugging each other, then there was some kind of earthquake and the ground swallowed them up. After that, everything went back to normal, but I don't know where the hell they are now."

Maka looked around. There was no sign of another person; just endless waves and endless sand. Ordinarily, she could have used Soul Perception to find Chrona—but of course, that wouldn't work when they were inside his soul.

Her gaze returned to Ragnarok. She studied his sharp chin, his thin dark brows.

His frown deepened. "What are you looking at?"

"It's just…I'm not used to seeing you like this." She paused. "Is this what you looked like? Or…what you would have looked like?"

"Huh?"

"I mean…if Medusa hadn't melted you into black blood."

Ragnarok stared at her blankly, mouth open. He blinked a few times. Then he spread his fingers and gawped at them. "Hey, I've got hands." He looked down. "I've got _legs._"

"You just noticed?" she asked, bewildered. "How is that possible?"

"I had a lot of shit on my mind, okay? But this is—_damn."_ He flopped down on the sand and held his legs in the air, looking at his feet. "I've got _toes._" He wiggled them and grabbed handfuls of his dark mane. "I've got _hair._ I've got—" He leaped to his feet, pulled out the waistband of his jeans and leaned down. A grin spread across his face. "And I'm hung like a fucking ox!"

"Er…congratulations."

"Seriously, come check this out!"

"I'll take your word for it."

He ran his hands over his face, feeling his nose and eyebrows and forehead. "Man, Chrona's gonna flip when he sees me like this." Sudden unease slipped across his expression, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's weird being separate from him."

"He's here. We just have to find him." She walked past him and stopped, looking over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

He scrunched up his face, as if he'd bitten into something sour. "Who made you the boss?"

"Well, I'm going to look for him." She strode forward, along the shoreline. "You can come with me or not. Your choice."

He grumbled something under his breath, stood, and followed her. He walked in a slouch, hands shoved into his jean-pockets. Their feet left faint impressions in the damp sand. "How are you planning to find him, anyway?"

"I don't know. Just keep walking until I see something, I guess."

"Hell of a plan."

"Do you have a better one?"

He thrust his jaw forward and looked away. "Tch."

They walked side by side, under the cloudless blue sky. The sun snored, dozing. Waves washed over the sand and shells. There was no sign of life, no seagulls, no plants, no crabs crawling across the beach. The stillness was eerie.

They walked. And walked.

They stayed close to the shore, because there was no way to orient themselves aside from the position of the ocean; if they wandered off into the desert, they might not be able to find their way back. Maka's feet started to ache. The sun remained immobile in the sky, so there was no way to tell how much time had passed.

Every so often, she called out Chrona's name. No one answered.

"I'm hungry," Ragnarok grumbled.

"You can't possibly be hungry," Maka said. "These aren't our real bodies. None of this is physically happening." Her stomach let out a whining growl, and she looked down.

"You were saying?"

"Maybe we just _think _we're hungry because we expect to—" A wave of weakness washed over her, and she stopped, swaying on her feet. The sun beat down, a steady, relentless heat, like a giant hand trying to press her into the ground.

"Hey, you okay?" Ragnarok asked.

"Yeah." Her vision went gray around the edges. She sank to the sand, dizzy. "Just...need to sit for a minute. Sorry." She raised a shaky hand to her brow. How could she be so tired? Her body was still back in the infirmary. She was probably lying unconscious in a bed next to Chrona's.

_Chrona._ Their souls were linked; maybe her fatigue was somehow connected to his. Maybe he was growing weaker. The thought sent an icy needle of fear down her spine.

Time was running out, and they weren't getting anywhere. She needed to think of something, and soon.

She closed her eyes, willing the exhaustion to pass. After a moment, she opened them.

Ragnarok stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at her and smirking.

She frowned up at him. "What?"

"Admit it."

"Admit _what?"_

"I'm sexy."

She stared blankly. "What?"

"Come on! You're probably the only chick who's ever going to see me like this. At least acknowledge my sexiness." He pulled up his shirt. "Look at these abs! You could fry an egg on them."

She sighed, folding her arms atop her knees, and looked up into those strange, purple-gray eyes. "Okay, fine. You're…not unattractive."

"Really?" His smirk widened into a pleased grin. "Hey, let's say we were like, in an alternate universe where you'd never met Chrona. Would you do me?"

Heat rose into her cheeks. "What kind of question is that? If I'd never met Chrona, how would I even know you?"

"I mean, if I were human. Like this. Let's say we meet at a party or something. And you're drunk. I mean, not _really _drunk, but enough that you're not so much of a tight-ass…"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and clamped down on her irritation. "Do you really think we have time for this?"

"I'm not asking you to do me _now._ Jeez, you think I'd do the nasty with you in Chrona's soul? That's fucking sick."

Her blush grew hotter. "That's not what I—never mind," she muttered and stood, brushing sand off her skirt. She couldn't afford to let Ragnarok rile her up, not now. The exhaustion seemed to have passed, at least.

"You're not my type, anyway," he continued. "I like bigger tits. I was just curious, y'know, as a guy. So what about Tsubaki? Do you think she'd do me?"

"We need to keep looking for Chrona."

"Tch. I told you, the ground swallowed them up. We're not going to find them just by walking along the shore."

"Then we'll start digging."

"Like that's gonna work." He scratched his nose. "It's _sand_. If we dig a hole, it'll just fill up with more sand."

Maka turned away. Her chest was tight, her stomach clenched so hard it was starting to ache. She'd been prepared to fight any enemy, to face any danger. But there was nothing here to fight. Anger and fear simmered at the bottom of her mind, creeping into her thoughts, clouding her heart. She didn't know what to do. "I guess we keep walking, then."

"Forget that. I need some damn food. You think there's a sushi restaurant in here?"

She spun around, teeth gritted. "Aren't you _worried _about him?"

Ragnarok thrust his hands into his pockets and glowered at her. "Don't ask stupid questions."

"How is that a stupid question?" She heard the anger in her voice and knew her control was slipping, that she was lashing out at Ragnarok because he was the only target in sight, but she couldn't stop herself. "He's your friend, isn't he?"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" he snapped back.

"Act a little more concerned! Take this seriously!"

"How the hell is that gonna help us find him?"

"That's not the point!" she shouted. "If you care about him at all, then _act_ like it already!"

He averted his gaze. "Feelings don't _solve _anything, okay? What, you think if I break down and start boo-hooing, he'll spring up from the sand like some kind of magical fucking flower?"

"God, do you _ever _stop?"

"Stop what?"

"This! Acting like you don't give a damn about anything or anyone, like none of this bothers you. Do you know what's happening to Chrona? He's fighting her. Right now. They're ripping away at each other's souls, and they're both weakening, little by little. If we don't find them soon, they're both going to disappear! Chrona will die!"

Ragnarok flinched.

She turned away, not wanting to look at him. Her head throbbed dully. "If walking is all I can do, then I'll keep walking," she said. "There's got to be a way down, a door, something, anything." She started to walk again.

He caught her arm. "Hey."

She glared over her shoulder at him. "What?"

"You keep walking, you won't find anything except more beach. You _know_ that." His fingers tightened on her arm. "You're supposed to be smart, right? So use your fucking head. There's got to be another way."

She looked down at the hand gripping her arm. His knuckles were white. She took a deep, slow breath, clearing her mind.

Much as she hated to admit it, he was right; they weren't getting anywhere like this. There had to be some answer, some simple, obvious solution that hadn't occurred to her yet. It was like facing a difficult problem on a test. If she struggled and pushed and tried to wring the answer from her brain by sheer force, it wouldn't come. But sometimes if she just relaxed her mind, the answer drifted naturally to the surface.

Fear tugged at her thoughts, urging her to move, to _do_, to fight, but she focused on breathing. If she could just think…

_Think._ Of course. Excitement fluttered in her chest.

"Hey, did you just come up with something?"

"I might have. It's, um...how do I put it?" She paused, turning words over in her head. "This is all mental. This world we're in now. Everything here is formed by perception and belief, so things here don't follow ordinary logic. It's like a dream."

Ragnarok squinted at her. "So?"

"So maybe we can make something happen just by willing it to happen."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"I don't know what else to try. Maybe if we visualize a set of stairs going down, or something, it'll appear." After a pause, she said, "You're hurting me."

He released her arm. "Sorry." He rubbed his own arm and looked down. He looked almost abashed.

Maka hesitated, then said, "I'm sorry too. For yelling at you."

A tiny smile grew from one corner of his mouth. "Hey, I kinda like how that sounds. Say it again."

"Don't push your luck."

He shrugged. "Okay. Let's try it."

They both stared at the sand near their feet. Maka pictured the ground opening up to reveal a stairwell. Over and over, she visualized it happening. She tried it with her eyes closed, her eyes open. She tried it with one eye open and one eye shut. Minutes slid by.

"This isn't working," Ragnarok said.

"Maybe we should try doing it one at a time. I mean…maybe we're visualizing two different sets of stairs, so we're canceling each other out."

"Uh...okay, let me try." He squinted. A vein in his temple popped out, and a bead of sweat trickled down his brow. "Hnnngh…" He squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment, he opened them again. Nothing had changed. The corner of his eye twitched, and he glared at the sand.

Maka sighed. "Okay, I guess I'll give it a try..."

"Hey!" He stomped on the beach and shouted, "Dammit, Chrona! I know you're down there!"

Silence.

"_Chrona! _Don't fucking ignore me!"

"Ragnarok, I've been calling his name all this time. He can't hear us."

He didn't even glance at her. He just kept stomping and shouting. "Chrona! You're down there crying like a little bitch, aren't you? I bet the old bag is already dead, and now you're just curled up in your corner with your blankie and your bottle, whimpering about how you don't know how to deal with anything. Like hell I'm gonna let you sulk!"

More silence.

"I _know_ you can hear me! This is your goddamn _soul. _You feel everything that's happening here, don't you?" He ground his heel into the sand. "If you don't show your face, I'm going to beat the shit out of this beach!"

Indifferent waves lapped at the shore. The sun groaned faintly, a ribbon of drool hanging from its mouth.

"Oh, that's _so _like you! God, you piss me off!" He walked over to the ocean and kicked at the waves, his foot splashing harmlessly through the water. He stomped back onto the beach, dropped to his knees and punched the sand over and over, hair hanging in his face.

Maka watched, caught somewhere between discomfort and fascination. He seemed to have forgotten about her entirely.

"You think you can leave me behind? Just run off and die without me? _Like fuck!_ Do you have any _idea _how much that pisses me off?" He knelt, his hands planted on the beach, elbows bent. He was shouting at the top of his lungs, his face inches from the sand. "You know what _else_ pisses me off about you? The way you eat the cream from the middle of the cookies and just leave the cookie part! And the way you always obsess so damn long about folding the napkins when you make everyone else's lunch! You think they care about how neatly you fold the fucking napkins? Fuck, you could give Kid a run for his money!"

Maka was starting to wonder if Ragnarok had lost his mind.

"And you know what _else? _You know what _else _I can't stand? The way you always talk in your sleep, and the way you can never seem to decide what fucking brand of toothpaste to buy, so you just stare at them all like a fucking rabbit in headlights until I grab something off the shelf, and the way you always put _exactly two _sugar cubes in your fucking chamomile tea, and the way you always say 'thank you' to me when I heal a wound or something, even though I never say it to you, and—" His voice cracked. He bowed his head, shoulders shaking. His ragged breathing echoed through the silence.

Maka stared, stunned. "Ragnarok…"

He didn't look up. His fingers dug into the sand. "You think you're the only one with problems, Chrona?" he said, his voice hoarse. "You never heard _me _cry, did you? Even though I went through the same shit you did, I never did that, not once. God knows you did it enough for both of us. Every night, hour after hour. You never shut up…until I'd start hitting you, and then you'd cry harder, but after a few minutes you'd stop, and then…_finally _you'd fall asleep, and…"

A few drops of liquid fell from his face, catching the sunlight, and landed on the sand.

"You can't fucking _die,_" he said through clenched teeth.

He drew in his breath, lifted his head, and tilted it back, staring at the empty sky. His voice raised to a shout again. "You hear me, Chrona? Let us in, or I'm coming down there to kick the emo out of you! And you can bet I'm swiping your dinner for the next _week!_ I'll punch your head until your ears ring! I'll eat a ten-pack of burritos and then burp in your face! I'll put glue in your socks! I'll—"

A low rumbling filled the air, and the ground began to tremble. Maka gasped, stumbled, and fell. She sat, astonished, as something rose out of the sand. It was huge and rectangular and pale yellow-brown, the same color as the beach. Sand slithered down its sides as it emerged, bit by bit.

The rumbling stopped and the ground stilled, but the monolith remained standing before them. Slowly, Maka rose to her feet.

Ragnarok sat, mouth open, eyes huge. "Whoa." His voice was low and dazed. "Did I do that?"

The building—if that's what it was—had no windows or doors. Maka walked around and around it, but no matter where she looked, there seemed to be no way in.

Ragnarok stood slowly. "What is it?"

"I don't know."

As she watched, a shadow formed on the wall. But it wasn't hers or Ragnarok's. It looked like a child's shadow; a child with messy, uneven hair.

"Hi," the shadow said. It was Chrona's voice, but younger, brighter.

Maka leaned closer, heart pounding. "Chrona?"

"I'm the other Chrona," the shadow replied.

Ragnarok cocked his head. "You're the one who's always asking questions, aren't you?"

Maka blinked and looked at him. "You two know each other?"

"Sorta. Not like we've ever really _met_, but…I dunno how to explain it."

"Does that mean Chrona is here too?" Maka asked. "I mean—the other Chrona?"

"He's down below," the shadow said. "I got left behind."

"If you've been here all along, why didn't you come out sooner?" Ragnarok asked. His voice still sounded a little shaky. "We just spent the past hour wandering around and shouting our lungs out, looking for you."

"I'm sorry," the shadow said. "The earthquake scared me. I was hiding beneath the sand, afraid to come out. But then I felt something warm, and I heard a voice. I'm glad you two are here now. It's lonely, talking to myself." The shadow tilted its head, peering at them. Its eyes were tiny, bright circles. "Can I ask you some questions?"

"Um…I wouldn't mind, but we don't have much time," Maka said.

"Just a few," the shadow said. "Why are you here?"

"To find Chrona, of course."

The shadow stared at them with its unreadable button eyes. "Why?"

Maka squared her shoulders. "Because he's in danger, and I want to help him."

"Why?"

"Because I love him."

The shadow's head turned toward Ragnarok. "What about you? Do you love Chrona, too?"

He made a small, choked sound. "Wh-what, do I _look_ like a homo to you?"

"I don't know." The shadow's head tilted. "What does a homo look like?"

"Like you!"

"I see. Are you teasing me?" Its tone was bemused.

"Ragnarok, don't be immature," Maka said. "You know that's not what he meant."

"It's okay," the shadow said. "I don't think I've ever been teased before. It's rather refreshing, actually. Usually, the only one I ever talk to is Chrona, and he doesn't always want to talk to me…though he _has_ been answering my questions more often lately. Ever since he met you."

"Will you help us find him, now?"

"Just one more question."

Maka hesitated. There was a pleading note in the shadow's voice that tugged at the center of her chest. "All right," she said.

"You're here because you love Chrona," the shadow said.

"That's right."

"Why do you love him?"

Maka's first impulse was to say that love didn't need a reason—that the love itself was what mattered—but that wouldn't be an answer.

This shadow was part of Chrona. Even if he never consciously remembered this conversation, her words would affect him in some way, would live on inside him. He deserved a real answer—so she gave him the simplest and most honest one she could think of. "Because he's Chrona."

The shadow didn't move, didn't respond.

"I know that's not much of an explanation. And I could give you other reasons. I could say that he's a truly good person—much better than he'd ever believe—that he's gentle and kind, that he has a really cute smile. I could say that he tries so hard to make other people happy, that he's risked himself over and over again to protect me. And all those things are true. I could probably list a thousand things I love about him. But in the end, the reason is bigger than all those things put together. I don't know if it's something I can explain. I just feel it."

Another moment of silence passed, broken only by the crash of waves against the shore.

"I think I loved him from the first moment I touched his soul," she said softly. "I know it sounds crazy. But it's the truth. He's the one I want to wake up next to every morning. I can't let this end now. We were supposed to have a whole lifetime together. I want that lifetime."

"You do?" the shadow asked softly.

"I do."

"I see." A pause. "Thank you, Maka." Its head turned toward Ragnarok.

"I prefer him alive to dead. That's the sappiest thing you're going to get out of me."

"That's all right," the shadow said. "It was your tears that brought me here, after all."

Ragnarok made another strangled sound. "That was _sweat._"

"If you say so." A pause. "You can go down now, if you like."

Maka looked up. Next to the shadow was a doorway which—she was sure—hadn't been there a moment ago. She took a tentative step forward and peered inside. A set of stone steps led down into darkness. "What's down there?" she asked uneasily.

"Dark things. Hidden places," the shadow replied.

"Oh, come on," Ragnarok said. "Give us a real answer, will ya?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like, this is a beach, so what's down there? A forest? A labyrinth? A fucking Starbucks?"

"I don't know what it will look like to you," the shadow replied. "Chrona needed to forget something. So he made that place below and locked it away."

Maka gazed down into the stairwell, eyes straining to pierce the blackness. "Forget what?"

"Something."

"Why would he need to forget it?" Ragnarok asked.

The shadow was silent for a long moment. When it spoke, its voice quivered slightly. "Because it's bad."

A chill rippled down Maka's spine. Chrona had spent his childhood being starved, locked up, and forced to kill animals. What could possibly be _worse_ than all that? She looked at Ragnarok. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Ragnarok shook his head.

"He's trapped in that place now," the shadow said quietly. "He's lost. He can't find his way back. And she's there with him, too. She's weakened, but she's not dead."

"Is he fighting her? Is he winning?"

"I don't know." A single, bright tear slid from one corner of its eye. "I can hardly feel him. I just know that he's scared." Another pause. "I'm scared, too. I don't want to disappear."

"You won't. Thanks to you, we can reach him now." She crouched so she and the shadow were at eye-level. "Thank you, little shadow."

She placed a soft kiss on its cheek. She felt only the flat, dusty wall against her lips, but to her surprise, the shadow's cheeks turned faintly pink.

"It'll be okay," she said gently. "I promise." She stood.

Ragnarok punched a fist into his palm. "Well, let's get this party started."

"I'm sorry," the shadow said, "I forgot to tell you. Only one of you can go down there."

"Huh? Why?"

"Right now, Chrona has three other souls inside his own. It's a strain for him to contain them all. Down there, it will be even more difficult. If you both go, you'll hurt him. His soul might break."

Maka and Ragnarok looked at each other.

Ragnarok sighed and lowered his gaze. "You're better at this spiritual shit than I am. Guess we both know it's gotta be you."

"I'll bring him back," she said. "I promise."

"You better."

She turned to the doorway, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders, staring down into the darkness. She took one step, then another. The light receded behind her, growing fainter, until she had to strain to see the steps beneath her feet. Her rapid breathing echoed through the silence, and she stretched her arms out until the tips of her fingers brushed the walls. Her instincts screamed at her to turn around, to run back into the light, but she kept descending, step after step, into the darkness.

At last, her feet touched a solid stone floor. The light from the surface had vanished almost entirely. She stood, waiting for her eyes to adjust, her breathing very loud in the silence.

She was in a hallway. Rough stone blocks composed the walls and floor, and a chill permeated the air.

She kept walking, footsteps echoing through the hall. The light was so faint, but somehow, it never quite disappeared. With each step, the air grew colder. She stopped and hugged herself, rubbing her arms. Her breath puffed from her lips in tiny white clouds.

A faint voice caught her ears, coming from somewhere up ahead. Singing? She froze, listening…but she couldn't make out the words. A moment later, the voice faded into silence, leaving her to wonder if she'd imagined it.

Maka swallowed, throat tight, pulse hammering in her throat. Her legs shook. She forced herself to keep walking.

She came to another set of steps leading down, and descended—down and down and further still, until at last, she came to a door.

For a few seconds, she just stood, staring. Her fingers brushed against the knob and jerked back. It was cold as ice—so cold it burned. Biting her lip, she tried gingerly to turn the knob, but the door was locked.

_You have the key. _She didn't know where the voice came from, but when she looked down at her hand, sure enough, she was holding a small golden key.

Maka pressed her ear to the door. She heard that voice again. A woman singing. She still couldn't make out the words, but the melody tickled some faint, distant memory of her own, something shrouded in the fog of childhood. A lullaby?

She could sense Chrona's presence. He was close.

Chrona had created this place to lock away a memory, the shadow had told her. Was that what was behind this door? His worst memory?

Her fingernails scratched lightly over the wood, the sound echoed and magnified in the deep hush. She could still hear that voice, a faint echo at the edge of her consciousness.

She didn't want to go any further. Something was pushing her away, whispering in the back of her mind, urging her to run, run back to the light.

But Chrona was beyond this door.

Maka slid the key into the lock and turned it, and the lock clicked open. She wrapped her fingers around the icy knob, ignoring the burn. The hinges creaked, and the door opened into darkness; a darkness somehow deeper and more profound than just the absence of light. It was heavy and tangible, ready to reach out and engulf her.

She stepped through.

-To be continued


	17. Chapter 17

AN: As you might've guessed by now, Breaking Point is getting close to its end. There will probably be only one more chapter after this one. I want to thank everyone who's read and reviewed so far. Even if I don't always reply, I do appreciate every review I get.

Also, a warning. There's some fairly disturbing stuff in this chapter. Proceed with caution.

* * *

><p>Ragnarok kicked the sand. He'd been pacing for what felt like hours. He stopped and squinted at the expanse of beach.<p>

Even with the sparkling blue ocean lapping its shores, Chrona's soul was still kind of boring and depressing. It needed some palms trees, he thought. And some tiki torches. And bikini-clad waitresses serving drinks with little umbrellas.

He nudged a broken seashell with his toe. His shirt stuck to his sweaty back, and hunger gnawed at the pit of his belly. "What's taking her so damn long?"

The shadow bowed its head. "I shouldn't have let her go down there." Its voice was soft, subdued. Frightened. "I shouldn't have opened the passage."

Ragnarok cocked his head. "Why not?"

"It's dangerous." A tear gathered at one corner of its eye. "Something bad might happen."

"It's the only way, isn't it? To bring him back?"

"Yes…but…"

"Look, if you hadn't shown up, she'd have ripped this whole place apart trying to reach him. And nothing kills her, anyway. You could drop a piano on her from the tallest building in Death City and she'd somehow survive." He dug in one ear.

Despite his casual tone, a ball of restless unease churned in his stomach. Maka _was_ tough—much as he hated to admit it—but she'd never faced something like this before. He didn't know _what _she was facing. The rules were different in here. "I just wish she'd hurry the fuck up."

The shadow's outline wavered and blurred.

He frowned. "Hey, you okay?"

"He's weakening," the shadow said. "I feel it."

Ragnarok shifted nervously. "But Maka's there with him, right? She's beaten Medusa before. Both of them together should be able to handle her."

"You don't understand. Chrona's fighting to hold onto his soul, but it's not a battle. Not the kind you're imagining."

"Then what?"

"He's trapped inside that memory. He's reliving it, over and over."

Ragnarok sucked in his breath sharply. "So that snake-bitch put his worst memory on loop, then sat back to watch while his resistance breaks down?"

"Something like that."

His nails dug into the meat of his palms. He winced, opened his hands, and stared at the bloody crescents. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to get himself under control. "So how many times has Chrona relived this memory, now?"

"I don't know. Time is different down there. It doesn't follow the rules. Chrona himself doesn't know how long it's been going on. He doesn't even know it's a memory. To him, it's really happening. Each time it goes back to the beginning, he forgets, and it happens to him for the first time again. Each time, he weakens a little more. Medusa's weakening, too. The rot is eating her soul. But at this rate…" The shadow trailed off.

Ragnarok finished the sentence in his head: at this rate, Medusa would win.

He lowered his gaze. A hard knot had lodged itself in the center of his chest. "This memory…what is it? Some kind of torture? One of her fucked up experiments?"

"No."

"Then how could it be _worse _than everything else she did to him? I mean, if it was bad enough that he repressed it…"

"It was different. It…went deeper."

Ragnarok swallowed, trying to work up some spit in his dry mouth. He felt like he'd been gargling with sand. "Why don't _I_ remember? Was this before me?"

A pause. In a tiny voice, the shadow replied, "You were asleep."

"And he never told me?"

"It was easier, if no one else knew. Easier to pretend it was just a dream. Medusa never said anything about it. The next morning, she acted like nothing had happened."

A thought occurred to him, and a chill settled into his bones. It couldn't be _that_, could it? Medusa was a twisted fuck, but she wasn't…like that. She'd never done those sort of things to Chrona. He'd _know _if she had. Wouldn't he?

"He just wanted to forget." The shadow's voice quivered and grew fainter, almost inaudible. "He was so confused. And ashamed."

For a moment, words wouldn't come. A red haze crept across his vision, and his pulse pounded behind his eyes. Tiny, sharp pains shot through his hand, and he realized he was digging his nails into his palms again. He forced himself to uncurl his fingers. "How old was he when this happened?" he asked, dreading the answer.

A pause. "Five," the shadow whispered. "Maybe six."

"Fuck." Ragnarok buried his face in his hands and drew in a shuddering breath. _"Fuck."_ He spun around and slammed a fist into the wall.

The shadow flinched. Its head turned toward the spiderweb of cracks spreading out from the point of impact, a few feet away from itself.

"Sorry," Ragnarok muttered. He pulled his hand back, his shoulders rigid with tension, and rubbed his palm against his face.

His hands were shaking. Damn.

Despite his violent tendencies, Ragnarok had never been prone to anger. Not really. Harassing Chrona was just recreation. Killing enemies was just a way to flex his muscles and have some fun. He took everything in stride, he played every shitty hand life dealt him and made the best of it, because what the hell could you do, really? Getting mad didn't solve anything.

In that moment, though, he wanted to rip Medusa's guts out with his bare hands.

"So that's how it was, huh?" He forced the words out through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. "I never pegged the old bitch for a pedo, but hell, I wouldn't put anything past her. What'd she do? Rape him with her snakes? Was that how she got off, listening to him scream?" His teeth were gritted so hard, his jaws were starting to ache. "I just don't understand how I could have _slept_ through something like—"

"It wasn't like that."

His mouth snapped shut.

"It…it wasn't. Not like you're thinking. N-nothing really...happened."

"Then what was it?"

Waves surged against the shore, a steady rhythm.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," the tiny voice whispered.

Ragnarok stared down at his feet, feeling sick to his stomach. His vision blurred. Damn sun, making his eyes water. "So…" He swallowed. There was a catch in his throat, like a fishhook. "So what's gonna happen to Maka down there?"

"I don't know."

"Is there _anything _we can do?"

The shadow bowed its head.

* * *

><p>Maka floated, enfolded in nothingness.<p>

She couldn't remember where she'd been before this or why she was here now. There was only the darkness, deep and vast as the sea, yet somehow warm and close. Womblike. There was no sight, no sound, nothing to disturb the perfect peace. She had the sense that she was underwater, but she felt no need to breathe.

She opened her eyes, exchanging one darkness for another. Yet the darkness wasn't complete. High above, a light flickered dimly, like a single candle. Pale blue-gray, the color of

_(his eyes)_

frost on a robin's egg. A pretty color.

She floated toward it. The light grew, brightening as she drew closer. She stared dreamily, wondering what it meant. But she wasn't afraid. Nothing could harm her in this place. This was home. She didn't understand it, but she felt more safe than she had in years. She opened her arms, as if to embrace the light.

It filled her vision, swallowed her whole, and everything that was Maka Albarn—thoughts, memories, feelings, beliefs—dissolved like sugar in coffee.

* * *

><p><em>Chrona lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He is thirsty. He ate dinner earlier that night—a reward for killing the Little One—but Medusa-sama didn't give him anything to drink.<em>

_Ragnarok is quiet within him. There is no sound except his own soft breathing, echoing through the darkness of his bedroom. He rolls onto his side and curls up, trying to ignore his thirst. Medusa-sama doesn't like him getting out of bed after dark. If she sees him, she'll be angry._

_No, he thinks—angry is not the right word. She never loses her temper. Her cruelty is always cold and deliberate._

_A strange feeling washes over him, a feeling that he's had these thoughts before, that this has all happened before. He has the fleeting sense that he's not himself, that someone else is looking out through his eyes._

_It passes quickly._

_He thinks longingly of the kitchen faucet, the cool water gushing out as he turns the tap. He imagines it filling the glass, beads of moisture forming on the outside. He doesn't even need a lot. Just a sip…_

_He slides out of bed, eases the door open and creeps out. He is in his pajamas, and his cotton-clad feet are as soft as a cat's against the floor as he takes one careful step forward, then another. He knows the floorboards, knows where to step to avoid a creak._

_Still, he has to be careful._

_Medusa-sama's bedroom is just down the hall from his. He has to go past it to reach the kitchen. Her door is open a tiny crack, and a thin wedge of light spills out. At the sight, his heart lurches. For a moment, he wants to turn around and creep back to the safety of his bedroom._

_But he is so thirsty. His tongue is swollen and parched, sticking to the roof of his mouth. He clutches at his throat and gulps, feeling the muscles move under his hand._

_He tiptoes forward, heart hammering, trying to control his breathing. He is almost to the door. A few more steps, and he will be past it._

_Again, he's seized by the feeling that he has done this before, that it's all going to happen again and he can't stop it—then the feeling slips away._

_He freezes, his right foot just a few inches from the stripe of light on the floorboards. He hears a soft groan from his mother's bedroom._

_Something is wrong. Is she sick? Is someone hurting her?_

_He stands, rooted to the spot, staring at the wedge of light. She makes another sound, almost a whimper._

_He thinks of just walking past, going to the kitchen and quenching his thirst. But what if she needs help? He's scared of Medusa-sama, but she's his mother, his world. If anything bad happens to her…_

_Shaking, he grips the doorknob in one sweat-slick little hand._

_Chrona pushes the door open, revealing Medusa-sama's bedroom, a room he has never seen before. It is huge and sparsely furnished and dim._

_For whatever reason, the first thing he focuses on is the nightstand. There is a green bottle on it, and a glass half filled with something red. His gaze shifts to the bed._

_Medusa-sama is lying on her back, legs splayed, staring up at the ceiling. She's not wearing anything, and the sight of her bare skin makes him momentarily dizzy with shock, so that it takes him a moment to see and understand why there are colorful things on her body and why they are moving. Then it all snaps into focus._

_Snakes. Big fat green snakes, little skinny red snakes, black snakes, striped snakes. They are crawling all over her._

_Chrona stands in the doorway, fists held tight against his chest, not breathing. His first thought is that the snakes are attacking her. But no. She is languid and relaxed, her golden eyes heavy-lidded._

_What's going on?  
><em>

_Her gaze focuses on him. She blinks a few times...then smiles. "Chrona, what are you doing out of bed? You impudent child." Her tone is lazily amused. He's never heard that tone from his mother._

_He starts to back away, but she says, "Stay there." He freezes.  
><em>

_Her tawny hair is loose, spilling over the pillow. She plays with a tendril, coiling it around her finger. "What did I say about leaving your room without permission?"_

"_I…I heard sounds," he whispers. "I th-thought someone was hurting you."_

_A throaty chuckle. "You were concerned about your mother? How touching."_

_One of the snakes is between her spread thighs. He watches, not wanting to watch but unable to look away, as it slides into her. Her body arches off the bed, and another soft, raspy moan escapes her throat. She's breathing heavily._

_It looks like it should hurt. Doesn't it _hurt_?_

_She gazes at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with each breath as the snake slides deeper. Her fingers dig into the sheets and clench. Her breath hisses softly between her teeth. For a moment her whole body goes rigid. Then all the tension rushes out of her. A bead of sweat rolls between her breasts. The snake slides out of her, black and glistening._

_He wants to look away, but he can't move, can't blink. He's afraid to move.  
><em>

_Medusa breathes a sigh, picks up the glass from the nightstand, and drains it in one gulp. Her smile fades as she stares at him. There is a look on her face he's never seen there, something he doesn't have the words for._

"_You were concerned about your mother," she says again, and this time there is no amusement. Her voice is empty and quiet._

_His heart is beating too fast. He doesn't know what he is supposed to do or say._

_She pours more red stuff into the glass and drinks it down. A tiny bit spills from one corner of her mouth, down her chin. She doesn't seem to notice._

"_Do you love me, Chrona?"_

_His breath catches. He stands, tense and still._

_She never speaks of love, except to tell him that it's not real, that it's just a story people make up to comfort themselves, that there is only strength and weakness, users and the used. He has never heard her acknowledge, even in some small way, that real love exists._

_Tears well in his eyes and spill down his cheeks. He is terrified of Medusa, and he senses that in time, the fear will grow into hate—a bitter seed already planted deep in his dry soul—but for now, the love is still stronger. "Yes," he whispers._

_A bitter smile twists her lips. "Sweet child." The words hold a trace of mockery, but there is something beneath, something wistful and almost sad. "Did you truly come from me?"_

_Chrona trembles, rooted to the spot._

"_You are the only person who has ever loved me," she says softly. "You are the only one who ever will."_

_A big green snake rears up on the bed and sways back and forth. She strokes its head lazily with one slender hand._

"_As for me…" Another dry chuckle escapes her throat; a cracked, broken sound. "I can't love."_

_A little red snake coils on her breasts, tongue flicking in and out._

"_I wonder, sometimes, what it feels like." Her voice is hazy, detached, like someone half-asleep. Her head lolls to one side, as if her neck is broken. "Is it warm? Like the touch of skin on skin?"_

_He wishes she would stop talking._

_Her fingers caress the black snake, sliding over its smoothness. "My darlings keep me warm at night. But their eyes—their eyes are so empty."_

_He doesn't want to see her like this. He doesn't want to hear these things. This isn't his mother, is it? His mother is cold and distant and aloof. Why is she saying these things now? What does she want? "M-Medusa-sama…I…"_

"_Tonight, call me Mother," she says. "But only tonight."_

_Not like this, he thinks. Please, not like this._

_Slowly, she stretches a hand toward him. "Come closer."_

_He doesn't move._

_A small sigh slips past her lips. She lifts the green bottle off the nightstand. "Are you thirsty?"_

_His dry throat prickles._

_He could run, he thinks. He could turn and run back to his room, slam the door shut, and hide under the covers until morning comes._

"_I wish to hold my child." Her voice is soft, hoarse. There's a rawness to it that he's never heard there before; something almost pleading. "Is that so strange?"_

_In the end, of course, there is no choice. She holds the power of life and death over him. He can refuse her nothing.  
><em>

_He takes a tiny step forward, then another. He is shaking as he crawls into bed with Medusa and her snakes._

_She offers him the bottle. He starts to sip the liquid and gags. It tastes like rotting grapes._

"_Swallow it," she says. "It will ease your fear."_

_He swallows a mouthful. It burns his throat and makes him cough. As it slides down his throat, a wave of weaknesses passes through him, and he feels _less_—as if some little part of him has slipped away, never to be reclaimed._

_She takes another swig from the bottle and licks the ruby-red liquid from her lips. Her eyes reflect the dim lamplight like a cat's. "Just for tonight," she murmurs. "Let me feel human." She wraps her arms around him and holds his head against her breasts. Cool, slim fingers stroke his hair. "Can you do that, Chrona? Can you help me feel?"_

_He whimpers._

_She gives him more of the foul-tasting liquid, and everything starts to go fuzzy._

_Medusa undoes the first button of his pajamas. He flinches, and she murmurs, "I want to feel your skin against mine. Nothing more." She undoes the other buttons, peels the soft cotton away, and draws him closer. Her breath smells like the stuff in the bottle. A little sigh escapes her. "So warm…"_

_He remains motionless, his breathing shallow and rapid, a rabbit caught between the fox's teeth. But she just holds him. The snakes are crawling all around them, hissing. One slides over him, warm against his skin._

_After awhile, she begins to sing. Her voice is soft and wobbly, the words slurred._

"_Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee…all through the night…"_

_Her palms are cool and smooth. Her nails scrape lightly over his bare back. "Guardian angels God will send thee…all through the night…"_

_Her fingers trail through his hair. "Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale and forest sleeping…"_

_Her voice weaves through the haze of his consciousness, like the snakes sliding over and around him. "I my loving vigil keeping…all through the night."_

_It's just a dream, he thinks. By morning, everything will be forgotten. He stares blankly into space._

_Deep within the fog of his brain, something flickers, a spark of awareness._

There won't be any morning. This has all happened before. It will end now, and you'll forget—

* * *

><p><em>Chrona lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He is thirsty.<em>

_When did he last have a drink of water? At lunchtime? Did he even eat lunch? _

_It's so hard to remember. The days blur together in a haze of blood and darkness and hunger. He never knows when the next bite of food, the next sip of water, the next meager bit of affection is coming. Life is about trying to survive the next moment._

_The room is silent and still. Ragnarok is already sleeping inside him. Chrona wishes he would come out; Ragnarok's rough, shrill voice would be a welcome relief from the silence._

_He rolls over, trying to ignore the dryness in his throat. He knows if he gets out of bed, Medusa-sama will be angry._

_No, he thinks. Angry is not the right word. She never loses her temper. Her cruelty is always cold and deliberate._

_A strange feeling washes over him—the feeling that he's had these thoughts before._

* * *

><p>Maka stared out through Chrona's eyes, a helpless prisoner, locked inside his head. She could feel everything; the ache of thirst, the uncertainty and loneliness.<p>

She tried to call his name, but her thoughts wavered and blurred, and she felt herself slipping under the surface of his mind once more. Darkness closed in around her. She struggled, clinging grimly to awareness, like a swimmer furiously treading water as currents pulled her from below.

Already, she could feel herself starting to fade. She had only a few seconds, and the chance would vanish. There was no telling when the next moment of selfhood would come, or _if _it would.

How many times had she and Chrona been through this? How many times had the memory already looped—an endless circle, like a snake eating its own tail?

There was no time to think, no time to feel. She had to reach him, now.

The currents pulled her. It would be so easy to let go, to let her thoughts melt into his, to _become_ Chrona. The urge was unbelievably powerful, like hovering on the edge of sleep, weighed down by exhaustion, exerting every scrap of willpower just to cling to that last thin sliver of wakefulness and wanting nothing more than to just give in.

But she was too stubborn for that.

She fought and clawed and mustered all her strength, throwing it all into a single cry.

_Chrona!_

* * *

><p><em>Chrona tenses at the sound of his name. The voice is so tiny, so faint, he can't be sure if it's real. He listens, eyes wide, but there is only silence. Did he imagine it?<em>

_Thirst burns in his throat, pulling him back to the moment. The memory of the voice slips away, sucked into the darkness beneath his mind, and he slides out of bed. Just a sip, he thinks._

_He walks down the hall, stepping carefully to avoid the creaky floorboards. He sees a narrow strip of light on the floor and freezes. A faint groan reaches his ears. Medusa-sama._

_Is she sick? Is someone hurting her?_

_He reaches out to grip the doorknob…and stops._

_He hears it again; that little voice calling his name. A girl's voice, soft and distant and filled with urgency._

Chrona. Chrona, can you hear me?

_His breathing quickens. He lowers his head and raises shaking hands to his head. He should know this voice. It's important. Why can't he remember the name? He fumbles for it, but his mind is a blank, and somehow, that makes him want to cry. "Who are you?" he whispers._

Listen to me, Chrona. I have to say this quickly, before I forget myself again. This isn't real. None of this is happening.

"_I—I don't understand." His voice wavers._

This is a memory. You have to escape now, before—

_Abruptly, the voice cuts off, as if its owner has been suddenly and violently yanked away. Chrona stands, unmoving, holding his breath. "H-hello?"_

_Silence._

_He stares at the strip of light on the floor._

_The memory of the voice is already fading, falling deeper into his mind. He grasps at it, but it's like trying to hold a bead of mercury. He _was_ talking to someone a moment ago, wasn't he?_

_He shuts his eyes and gropes through the darkness within. There's _something_, if he can just remember…_

_Medusa groans again, pulling his attention to the present._

_Chrona gulps and reaches out. He stops, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. Again, that sense of familiarity washes over him; the sense that he's done this before—_

_He _has _done this before. The realization jolts him to the core, and his breathing speeds._

_How many times has he walked down this hall? How many times has he opened this door?_

_His hand trembles, fingertips resting against cool metal. He doesn't understand what's happening to him or why, but he knows that he doesn't want to open this door. He wants to leave this place._

_But how? Even if he could, where would he go? Medusa-sama is the only one who accepts him, who needs him. This is his home, his only reality. It's all he's ever known._

No._ There was somewhere else. Something outside the darkness. Green eyes…_

_Was that only a dream?_

_He stares at the door, straining to remember. There's a name. It's _there _in his mind, dancing just out of reach, but when he grasps for it, it vanishes into the murk. She…someone..._

_Warmth, comfort, laughter. Love. He was loved._ _How could he forget that, even for a moment?_

_The memory of green eyes blazes in his mind. It wasn't a dream, he didn't make it up. He could never invent someone like her._

Maka.

_The name is like a dam bursting open inside him. Memories rushed back, an explosion of light. Shibusen. Kindness. Acceptance. Soul, Black Star, Tsubaki, Kid, Liz, Patty, Marie-sensei, Dr. Stein. Maka. Tears flood his eyes._

_He remembers everything now. Shibusen is his home. _This _place is the dream. It's just a shadow, a ghost of the past._

_He wants to go home._

_As soon as he thinks the words, a crack splits the ceiling. Light bleeds in._

_He wants to go home!_

_The walls are caving in, cracking and buckling. Dust rains from the ceiling. Rays of sunlight shine through the cracks and spill across the floor, filling the hallway. The whole place is collapsing._

NO! _a voice roars, filling the air._

_The floorboards crackle and shudder. He stumbles. The shadows stir and coalesce into serpentine shapes, rearing and hissing. The floor between his feet splits open with a screech of ripping nails and splintering wood. The gap yawns wider, a gaping maw lined with jagged wooden teeth. It swallows him up._

_He plunges into darkness, and his back strikes a hard surface. The impact knocks the wind from him, and he gasps frantically as the hole above him closes, sealing him in. The light vanishes._

YOU THINK YOU CAN ABANDON ME NOW? _Medusa's voice echoes all around him, coming from nowhere and everywhere. It vibrates in the floor, shakes the walls._

_His eyes strain against the darkness, but there is nothing there, nothing to see. He fights for breath, his head swimming._

I WAS THE FIRST! I WAS HERE BEFORE ANY OF THEM! I WILL NOT BE CAST ASIDE! _The walls shudder with the force of her voice._

_He climbs to his feet, still fighting for breath._

_Hinges creak, and a ray of light falls into the room. He looks up to see a familiar form standing in the doorway. Medusa. Her expression radiates cold rage, but her eyes are wide and wild, showing white all around—the eyes of a wounded animal._

_He lunges for the door._

_Vector arrows shoot into the room and plunge into his flesh. He screams as they impale his shoulders and chest, pinning him to the wall. Ribs crack. More arrows skewer his palms._

_He opens his mouth to scream, but his voice is gone. Blood bubbles out of his mouth, drips from his wounded palms and chest as he hangs limply from the wall, choking. The arrows withdraw, ripping from his flesh. He falls and lands with a bone-jarring thud. _

"_You're a very bad child," Medusa says, her voice hard and tight. "You can stay out of my sight for awhile."_

_The door creaks shut, leaving him alone in a spreading pool of his own blood._

* * *

><p>Maka's eyes opened a crack, then winced shut as sunlight blinded her.<p>

She was lying stomach-down on a beach. There was sand in her mouth; she could feel the gritty particles scraping between her teeth. She grimaced, spit, and rolled onto her back.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself staring up at Ragnarok's face. "What happened?" she asked, her voice hoarse and cracked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he said. "You just kinda materialized."

Maka sat up, ignoring the dizziness that rolled through her. She looked around at the beach and the ocean, the cloudless blue sky.

Everything was as she'd left it. The building was still there, and the shadow was on the wall, staring at them. "I…I was in his memory," she murmured, cradling her forehead in one hand. "I saw…" She trailed off.

She recalled it only dimly now, like a dream, like images seen through clouded glass. But she remembered enough. Medusa's lullaby echoed through her head, and a shudder ran through her.

No wonder, she thought. No wonder Chrona had forced himself to forget. That was the only bit of affection Medusa had ever shown him, and it had happened like _that_, mixed with the rotten, sickly-sweet taste of wine and visions of snakes on naked flesh. How could a child's mind even process something like that?

She felt a wrenching pain inside her chest. _If I'd known…_

But there was no time for that now. Chrona's soul was still in danger.

Ragnarok crouched beside her. "Did you find him?"

"Yes. I—I was able to talk to him. Just for a few seconds."

He didn't ask her what she'd seen down there. She was grateful. She wouldn't have even known how to explain it.

A vision of snakes flickered through her head. Maka pushed it away. _Focus on the moment. _She rose to her feet, legs shaking. She stumbled a little, and Ragnarok steadied her with a hand on one shoulder. She looked at him in surprise.

He released her and averted his gaze.

Maka faced the shadow. She braced herself and said, "I've got to go back down."

"It's too late," the shadow said. "She closed the passage. I'm trying to open it again, but it's not working."

Dread coiled inside her. "Why not?"

"It only worked before because she didn't know you were here, but now she's on guard. She shoved you out as soon as she sensed you."

Her jaw clenched. "So there's nothing we can do? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm sorry," the shadow said meekly.

She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. "It's not your fault." She kept her tone low and calm, but her shoulders were tense, her guts twisted into knots.

She'd been determined to bring Chrona safely home. She'd failed.

"So what happens now?" Ragnarok asked. His voice shook slightly. "Is…is that it?"

"There's still hope." Maka forced her spine to straighten. "Even if we can't get in, maybe he can still get out."

"How?"

"I don't know." She pressed her fingertips against her forehead, her mind turning in frantic circles. There had to be a way. Maybe…

She turned to face Ragnarok. "You remember what I said before? This place isn't real, not physically. It's shaped by perceptions and feelings. If he can break the mental hold she has over him, maybe he can escape."

"Really?"

"It's just an idea," she admitted. But it was the only thing she could think of, the only hope to cling to.

"I don't understand this spiritual shit very well." Ragnarok rubbed the back of his neck. "So…if he overcomes his fear of her, he might be able to get out? That's what you're saying?"

Maka nodded. "Fear is how she's always controlled him. It's the reason he obeyed her for so long, the reason he kept following her orders, even after he came to Shibusen. So maybe—"

"You're wrong."

At the sound of the shadow's voice, they both turned.

Ragnarok frowned. "What do you mean?"

The shadow lowered its head. "He's afraid of her. But fear isn't the only reason he obeyed her."

"But what else could…" Maka's eyes widened. In a flash, she understood, and her insides turned hollow. "Oh," she whispered.

Ragnarok blinked. "Am I missing something?"

The shadow let out a tiny sigh. "She's his mother."

"So what?" Ragnarok growled. "She's a fucking bloodthirsty sociopath. She's a lying, manipulative piece of shit who tortured and starved her own kid."

"She's a bad person," the shadow agreed. "But…"

"But nothing. He doesn't owe her anything. Chrona hatedkilling, he hated everything she made him do. I never gave a damn, one way or the other, but he hated every moment. Why would he follow her, if he wasn't scared shitless of her? What other reason could there be?"

"He loved her," Maka said quietly.

Ragnarok stared, mouth open. "Are you _shitting_ me?"

Maka looked away.

"Seriously, you _know _about everything she put him through, right?"

"I know," she said.

"Then what makes you think—"

"I felt it."

He fell silent.

Maka lowered her head. She didn't want to believe it, herself. Especially after what she had seen down there. But she'd merged with Chrona's soul, experienced all his emotions. She couldn't deny what she knew.

Medusa had used him, abused him in every conceivable way, cast him aside, tried to kill him, and threatened the people he cared about. But in some tiny corner of his soul, Chrona still loved her. It was a bitter and sick love, mixed with darkness and hate and fear and shame, but it was there.

Maybe that was the reason Chrona was still trapped down there now. Medusa was wounded and sick, and if he pushed her out of his soul, she would die. Maybe he just couldn't bring himself to abandon her, even knowing she deserved death and worse. Chrona was probably the only person in the world with a heart capable of feeling compassion for a creature like her.

Tears blurred her eyes. Fiercely, she scrubbed them away with the back of one hand.

"Stop that," Ragnarok said. "If _you're _crying, then we're really fucked."

"I couldn't save him," she whispered. She shut her eyes tight and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. "I came all this way, and when I finally found him, I couldn't doanything."

"He heard your voice," the shadow said. "You helped him remember who he is."

Maka choked down the lump in her throat and nodded…but the hard, bitter knot in her chest remained. In the end, she'd only been able to give him a few words of hope.

She prayed it would be enough.

* * *

><p><em>Chrona lies on the floor, motionless. His wounds throb. Blood soaks his clothes and skin. His ragged, labored breathing echoes through the silence.<em>

_It hurts so much. Torn muscles scream. Everything inside him is broken; his lungs can't draw breath, his heart struggles to beat within his shattered ribcage. He doesn't understand why he's not dead._

_The door creaks open, and a thin ray of light falls into the room. Medusa stands in the doorway, her face lost in shadows. "Are you ready to behave?" she asks._

_He lies on the floor, crumpled and immobile, a discarded doll. His chest hurts with each breath. Blood gurgles in his throat._

"_We've arrived at a stalemate," she says. "I don't have the strength to claim your soul by force, and you don't have the strength to escape from this place. If one of us doesn't yield, this will go on and on for as many years as your body lives. I control this space. I control your perceptions. I can stretch out each minute into a day, each day into a year. If I wish, I can keep you here on the cusp of death for an eternity. I am willing to wait as long as it takes."_

_Chrona doesn't move. He coughs, and blood fills his mouth._

"_Believe it or not," she says, "I don't enjoy hurting you. I find this drawn out torture to be pointless and tiresome. We both know that you will lose this battle. It's just a matter of how long you endure. Do you think it's somehow heroic, to senselessly drag out your own suffering?"_

_He stares at her through a curtain of bloodstained pink hair._

_Her hand tightens on the doorknob. "Perhaps you believe she'll come for you? She can't reach you here. Not anymore. I am all you have left. You have no choice." The cool, calm mask is slipping. Her voice is rough with desperation. "If you let me in, I can make you strong. I'll purge every last shred of fear from your heart. You won't need her anymore. You won't need anyone. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it? Freedom from fear?"_

_Chrona's breath catches._

_For a moment, he wonders what it would be like. No more panic attacks. No more waking up screaming from bad dreams. No more trembling at every shadow. For most of his life, that was all he ever wanted—to escape from his personal hell, even if it meant losing his humanity._

"_Don't you want to cast off your fear, Chrona?" Her voice softens in a clumsy imitation of tenderness, too frantic to be convincing. "Don't you want to be free from pain?"_

_A vision of green eyes flash through his mind. He hears her voice, echoing in his memory: _If people didn't need each other, there wouldn't be any love. Just like there can't be courage without fear, and there can't be empathy if we don't understand suffering. Our weaknesses give us our virtues_._

_He tries to speak, but only a weak gurgle emerges. He tries again, and this time, he forces a single word through his throat: "No."_

_Her expression tightens. Yellow eyes narrow. "No one can see you here. No one is grading you on your performance. I can feel your emotions. You reek of despair and terror. Who are you trying to fool with this pitiful resistance?"_

_It is a struggle just to breathe past the flaring pain in his chest. "Let me go," he rasps._

_Her lips peel back from white teeth. "Never." The word is a harsh animal snarl. He can see the terror in her eyes, bleeding through the rage._

_She has nothing left, he realizes. All her plans have been used up; this is her last hope. Everything hinges on his compliance._

"_Let me go," he whispers again._

"_You can't leave me!" Her voice rises to a scream. "I created you! I made you what you are! You're mine! _Mine!_"_

_He places one hand on the bloodstained floor and slowly pushes himself up. His arm trembles. The wound in his palm throbs as he raises his head to glare at her. "No," he says calmly. "I'm not."_

_She stares at him in silence._

"_It's over," he says. "You have to let me go."_

_More silence._

"_You can stay here in agony until you're ready to accept me," she says, her voice flat and empty. The door creaks shut, drowning him in darkness again._

_For a long time, Chrona lies in his own blood, struggling to breathe._

_The darkness presses down on him like a massive weight. The floor is sticky and wet with his blood. There is so much. It's on his hair and face, it plasters his clothes to his skin. He never would have guessed his own small body contained so much blood…and there's no Ragnarok in this place. Here, his blood is not a Weapon or a friend. It's only blood. It keeps flowing out of him in a steady, sluggish stream, leaving him a little weaker with each passing moment, but somehow, there is always more._

_This is it, he thinks. This is how he will die; alone, in darkness, filled with pain._

_He moves, just a little, and the pain flares hot and sharp, a thousand white-hot needles jabbing through tender flesh. His breath hisses between his teeth._

_Mustering all his strength, he raises his head. He can't see anything in the darkness, but he knows where the door is._

_Chrona braces himself. Slowly, slowly, he begins to crawl._

_He knows that it's pointless. The door will be locked. He won't be able to get out. But he has to _try. _It's what Maka would do. She would keep trying, keep fighting, even when all hope had fled, and that knowledge pushes him on…but the real reason is deeper than that._

_If he is going to die here, he doesn't want it to be because he gave up. He won't give up his soul, because—for the first time—he believes in its worth. He'll die fighting, because that is all he has left._

_Every little movement hurts. Fresh blood oozes from his wounds. Waves of faintness wash over him, and his head spins, but he keeps crawling, inch by inch, on his hands and knees. His chest brushes against the floor, and his breath hisses through his teeth at the pain shooting through his shattered ribs, but still, he keeps going._

_He stretches out a trembling hand, and his fingertips brush against the door. He rests for a moment, his forehead against the rough wood…then he gathers his legs beneath him._

_His knees don't want to straighten. His legs don't want to support him. But he forces them to, ignoring the cry of torn muscle and cracked bone. Against instinct and reason, he wills his shattered body to stand._

_Sweat trickles into his eyes, stinging, as he touches the cold knob. He tries to turn it._

_Locked. Of course._

_He sinks to the floor. It's getting very difficult to breathe. His head swims. Darkness is coming to steal his thoughts. He rests his head against the cold stone floor._

You are the only one who has ever loved me, _Medusa's voice whispers in his head_. You are the only one who ever will.

_Tears fill his eyes._

_He should want her dead. He knows that. He should hate her with every fiber of his being. But…_

_Chrona is alive now because Maka had the courage to love him, even though he didn't deserve love. Even after all the innocent people he massacred, even after he tried to kill her and nearly killed her best friend, she forgave him and sought out the good in him._

_He and Medusa have both committed unforgivable sins. He knows Maka would say it's not the same thing, that Chrona had no choice. Still...  
><em>

_A tear slips down his cheek and drips to the floor. The cold stone shudders beneath him._

_He runs his fingertips through the sticky warmth of drying blood. The floor is tacky with it. "I don't belong here," he murmurs. "You know I don't. If you keep me here, we'll both die." His voice is very faint, but he knows she can hear. She _is _the room. She is the darkness all around him. "I know you're suffering, too. You're rotting away. You don't even want to live anymore. You're just afraid of dying."_

_A faint, hissing growl emanates from deep within the walls. But the sound is weary, half-hearted._

"_I want—I want to go back to Shibusen. That's my home now. I'm happy there." He swallows, his throat tight. "I know you don't care. I know you never loved me. I know you don't regret the things you did. You aren't capable of feeling things like that. But…there was a time when you wondered. What love is. What it feels like."_

_The darkness seems to hold its breath._

"_It's warm. When you love someone, and they love you, it's like feeling sunlight for the first time."_

_Another shudder ripples through the stone._

"_You've hurt me more than anyone in the world." His voice is almost inaudible, but his lips move, shaping the words. "I'm broken because of you. I scream in the darkness from nightmares about the things you did to me. I make myself bleed, because it's the only way to let the pain out. I tried to erase myself so many times, because living with you was worse than death. But still, somehow…" His voice hitches. "When I think about how empty you are, and how alone, and all the things you'll never feel…I feel sorry for you."_

_The floor shifts beneath him with a thin rasp, like sandpaper sliding over wood._

"_Even _you_ don't want to be alone," he whispers. "That's why you had me, isn't it? You wanted someone to love you. Someone who would always love you, even if you threw him away. Maybe…maybe, deep down, you wanted salvation. But…it doesn't work that way. Being loved can't save a person's soul." A tiny, weak sound, not quite a laugh, escapes him. "I think I just realized that…it wasn't her love for _me_ that saved me. It was my love for_ _her. That love is mine, no matter what. You can't take it away, even if you kill me."_

_The walls let out a faint groan—a deep, sighing sound, like creaking timbers and wind through ancient trees._

_His eyes slip shut. "To feel that warmth…you have to love someone else. To give yourself. That's something you can't understand."_

_He's slipping away. He can't hold on much longer. Maka's face fills his mind, and he clings to the image. If he's going to die, he wants to die thinking about her. He remembers sitting with her on the bench, eating ice cream in the sunlight, the simple contentment of being next to her._

_For awhile, he floats in the dim space between waking and unconsciousness._

_Slowly, his eyes open. He realizes, with drowsy surprise, that the pain has begun to fade. His wounds still throb dully, but he can breathe again. Little by little, the inferno in his shattered ribs cools._

_Gingerly, he rises to his hands and knees. His shoulders ache, but the ache is a dim echo of what it was._

_He stands, his limbs shaky, and leans against the door._

_Not quite daring to hope, he curls his fingers around the blood-slicked knob and turns it._

_There's no resistance; just a faint click as the door opens a crack, and a thin beam of light spills in. For a moment he can only stare, mouth open._

_Sunlight._

_He pushes the door open. More light floods the room, and everything—the walls, the floor, the ceiling—dissolve in a burst of dazzling radiance. He shuts his eyes, blinded, but he doesn't hesitate._

_He steps through._

* * *

><p>When Chrona opened his eyes, he was standing on a beach, waves lapping the shore. A blue sky arched overhead. The sun blazed brightly, laughing in rhythmic huffs.<p>

The pain was gone. His wounds were gone. He looked down at himself. He was no longer trapped within his six-year-old self; he was sixteen again, tall and willowy and clad in his familiar black robe.

He turned…

And there she was, smiling, her hair shining wheat-yellow in the sunlight, her green eyes warm and filled with tears. "You came back," she said softly.

His eyes widened. "Maka…"

For a moment, they just stared at each other. She opened her arms, still smiling, even as tears spilled down her cheeks.

He flung himself into her embrace. She laughed, her voice choked, and squeezed him tight. "Oh, Chrona, you came back!"

He closed his eyes and hugged her, soaking in her warmth, breathing her scent. This was real, he thought, dazed. She was here, with him. He felt as if he were awakening from a long, dark dream. "Maka…oh, Maka, I missed you so _much_…"

Behind him, someone cleared his throat.

Startled, Chrona released Maka and turned to see a dark-haired young man standing with his hands on his hips. He blinked. "Who—"

The young man grinned, hooked an arm around Chrona's neck, and dragged him into something that was more a headlock than a hug. He rubbed his knuckles over Chrona's scalp in a rough noogie. Chrona squeaked and struggled to pull away, but the young man just tightened his grip.

"Ragnarok!" Chrona gasped out.

"The one and only." Ragnarok loosened his grip.

Chrona pulled free and stared at him, his eyes huge. "You're…different."

"Yup." His grin widened. He glanced down at himself, then at Chrona. The grin vanished. "Hey, what the fuck? You're taller than me!"

"I gu-guess I am." A tiny smile grew from one corner of his mouth.

Ragnarok looked around. "Hey, that building is gone. The shadow too."

"Shadow?"

"Yeah, you know, your other self. Where'd it go?"

Chrona hesitated. His brows knitted. "I think it's here. Inside me." He placed a hand over his heart.

Ragnarok squinted at him for a moment. He stood on tiptoe. "Looking _up _at you feels really fucking weird," he muttered. He tilted his head. Then he dragged Chrona into another headlock and started giving him noogies again.

"Oww! Cut it out!" he protested. But he was smiling broadly.

Maka laughed breathlessly and pulled Chrona into another tight hug. He returned it, burying his face in the curve of her neck. "I was trapped in that place for a long time," he murmured against her skin. "And then I heard your voice. You saved me again."

"I just gave you a little encouragement. You saved yourself."

Had he, though? He didn't understand how he'd managed to escape. But at the moment, he wasn't inclined to worry about it.

He gazed into her eyes, feeling like he could happily fall into their depths and lose himself in her. She reached up and touched his cheek.

Ragnarok tapped Chrona on the shoulder, and he looked up. "Before you two start getting all kissy-kissy," he said, "where's Medusa?"

Chrona tensed. _Medusa. _She was still here somewhere, in his soul. But where?

He released Maka, turned in a slow circle, scanning the beach…and froze.

Some distance away, he could see a tiny form curled on the sand.

Maka gulped. "Is that…"

"I think so," Chrona murmured. His pulse drummed. Maka caught his hand and squeezed it tight.

The form remained motionless. It would've been easy to mistake for some inanimate heap of debris—a pile of rags or driftwood, perhaps—but when he looked closely, he could see a lock of dirty blonde hair peeking out.

"Should we…"

"I think we have to," Chrona said.

He clung to Maka's hand as they walked toward the tiny shape, Ragnarok close behind.

As they drew nearer, Chrona wondered if he'd been mistaken. Could this possibly be Medusa? The form was no larger than a child. It looked so…pitiful, curled up on the sand, clad in a ragged hooded tunic, messy hair hanging in its face. A faint smell of decay wafted toward them on the breeze.

"Be careful," Maka said. "It could be a trick."

Chrona nodded. But somehow, he knew it wasn't.

Medusa had been clinging to life by a thread for some time, now. Most of her soul had been devoured by the rot. The form he'd seen earlier, standing straight and tall in the doorway of the dark room, had been an illusion. This was all that remained of her.

He released Maka's hand and approached in small steps, staring down at the tiny form. Ragged, labored breathing echoed through the silence. Purple rot covered nearly every exposed inch of Medusa's skin. One eye was glazed and dim. The other had burst like a grape, and wet gore trickled down her cheek, a mixture of blood and clear fluid.

Slowly, the single yellow eye focused on him. "You've won." Her voice was flat, hoarse. Her lips were cracked and shriveled, stained with dried blood. "Kill me."

Chrona just stared.

To him, Medusa had always been an object of fear. She'd seemed omnipotent, indestructible, like a cruel goddess. It ought to be satisfying, seeing her like this now. But he felt only a quiet emptiness.

"Stop it," she whispered. "Stop…stop _looking _at me like that…" Her single eye squeezed shut. A pained smile twisted her lips, and a thin, dry chuckle escaped her throat. "To be pitied by _you…_that's the ultimate disgrace."

And suddenly, he knew—he knew why the door had been unlocked.

"Why did you let me go?" he asked quietly.

Her eye opened and looked blearily up at him. "I wanted to feel it. Just once. That warmth you spoke of."

"Did you?"

Her eye closed again. Another bitter smile pulled at her lips. "No."

Chrona lowered his gaze.

"What are you waiting for?" Her voice was a flat rasp. "Kill me."

It would be easy, he knew. He wouldn't even need Ragnarok. He could snap her neck with his bare hands. But there was no point in killing something so weak.

Medusa sighed faintly. Patches of pale yellow-brown appeared on her skin and spread, erasing the purple rot.

"What's happening?" Maka whispered.

Chrona didn't reply, but as they watched, the answer became obvious. She was drying up, turning to sand, even her clothes. She was too weak to sustain her own existence—or perhaps she just didn't care enough to hold on any longer. The beach was claiming the last, shriveled remnants of her soul. The tips of her fingers and toes began to crumble. An ear broke off and landed on the ground.

Her lips moved weakly. "Chrona…" The voice was thin and dry, like the rush of air through a seashell.

She had only a few seconds left. Her eyes were blank, dust-colored balls; her features were softening, blurring, as the wind sighed over her, carrying away wisps of sand.

She wanted to tell him something. But he didn't have to listen. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear anything she said. If he wished, he could leave her like this, alone in silence and despair, as she'd left him so many times.

He leaned closer.

* * *

><p>Maka watched as Chrona lowered and turned his head, bringing his ear toward her mouth.<p>

Medusa whispered something. A single word. Maka couldn't make it out, but she heard Chrona's swift intake of breath, saw him tense.

Then Medusa crumbled into a featureless yellow-brown heap. Wind whistled across the beach, and the sand dissipated, trailing away through the air, until no trace remained.

Chrona rose slowly to his feet. He stood with his back to Maka, arms at his sides, staring at the ocean.

Slowly, Maka approached. Chrona's expression had gone distant, unreadable, but there were tears on his cheeks. She wanted to ask what Medusa had said to him, but something held her back.

She slipped a hand into Chrona's, fingers interlocking with his. "Let's go home," she said instead.

Chrona drew in a slow breath and nodded. "Okay."

-To be continued


	18. Chapter 18

It was early December.

The park's trees were bare. Their branches cut clean silhouettes against the pale sky, and the air was cool and crisp. Chrona sat next to Maka on a picnic blanket, their shoulders touching, their breath pluming in little white clouds.

"Hey Chrona, catch!" Black Star flung the Frisbee across the grassy clearing.

Chrona lifted his hands and tried to catch the Frisbee, but it bounced off his head. He winced.

"Almost!" Black Star shouted.

"You throw that thing too aggressively, Black Star," Maka said. "You're going to give someone a concussion one of these days."

"Ih-it's okay." Chrona smiled as he rubbed his stinging forehead, wondering if the Frisbee had left a mark.

Beside them, Soul stood up and said, "Here, toss it to me."

"Here it comes! Ya-_hooo_!" The Frisbee sailed through the air with the force of a missile, and Soul casually lifted one hand and caught it.

Maka sipped from a mug of cocoa. Instead of her usual coat, she was wearing a light brown jacket trimmed with white faux-fur, a pair of matching gloves, and a snowflake-patterned scarf. Chrona kept looking at her and blushing.

They'd just finished their weekly group resonance practice. Dr. Stein stood near the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree and smoking, while Kid, Liz, Patty, and Tsubaki sat on a picnic blanket, munching sandwiches and sipping from bright red mugs. Chrona had made a batch of hot cocoa that morning and brought it in an extra-large thermos, along with a can of whipped cream. He'd worried the cocoa wouldn't stay hot, but it was still steaming.

Maka took another sip. There was a bit of whipped cream on the tip of her nose. Chrona stared at it. "Maka, you've got…"

"Hm?" She looked up at him.

"H-here, let me." He wiped away the whipped cream with a finger. It was the sort of thing he would have been too shy to do just a few weeks ago, but now it felt oddly natural.

"Oh." Maka looked at his fingertip. She smiled and licked off the whipped cream, and his cheeks grew warmer.

Ragnarok popped out of Chrona's back and settled atop his head. "Damn, you two can't keep your hands off each other for five minutes. It's ridiculous. Hey, someone gimme a sandwich!"

Tsubaki smiled sweetly and handed him a BLT. "Here you go, Raggy."

Maka blinked. "Raggy?"

Ragnarok devoured the sandwich in one gulp and licked crumbs from his face. He paused, looking at her, and when he spoke again his voice was unusually subdued. "Um…hey, Tsubaki…"

"Yes?" She tilted her head.

Ragnarok looked away. "Nothing." He retreated into Chrona's body.

Tsubaki tilted her head, looking puzzled. After a moment, she resumed eating her turkey and Swiss sandwich.

Maka linked her fingers with Chrona's. They sat side by side, watching as Black Star and Soul tossed the Frisbee. Liz painted her nails, blowing on them to make them dry faster, while Kid counted the number of sesame seeds on his sandwich bun, lips moving silently.

Without warning, Patty thrust a sandwich-half in Chrona's face. She'd used toothpicks to pin two olives to the top like eyes, and now she moved the bread-slices up and down like lips. "Eat me. Eat meeeee…"

Chrona squeaked and fell backwards in surprise. Patty giggled and took a bite out of the sandwich.

Liz sighed, still examining her nails. "Don't tease him, Patty. He's not used to that kind of thing."

"Ih-it's okay." Chrona sat up and offered a tentative smile. "I don't mind."

A cool wind sighed through the park, and the trees swayed. Maka shivered, and Chrona draped his arms around her, pulling her closer. Black Star's loud laughter echoed through the clearing.

Chrona marveled at how right it all felt, how natural. Once, his life at Shibusen had seemed like a sweet dream; a fleeting illusion, to be snatched away at any moment. There were still moments when he felt like that. But each day, his new world felt a little more real. He belonged here.

These were his friends.

This was his home.

* * *

><p>Long after the others had gone home, Chrona and Maka sat on the grass together near the edge of the duck pond, their fingers interlaced.<p>

There weren't any ducks. They'd flown off to wherever ducks went in the winter…though Death City was already pretty far south, so Chrona wasn't sure where that might be. A few leaves drifted lazily on the water's surface.

It had been just over a week since Medusa's death, but the memories were already cloudy in his mind, like a dream. Maybe that was for the best.

"You know, Chrona," Maka said. "Christmas is coming up in just a few weeks."

"Ch-Christmas?"

"Oh, that's right…this is your first Christmas in Death City, isn't it?"

Chrona had never celebrated any holidays. He nodded and ducked his head, self-conscious—there was so much he didn't know—but Maka only smiled and squeezed his hand. "We'll have to make it special."

He knew it would be. Every day with her was special. "What do people do for Christmas?"

"Lots of things. Maybe we'll get a tree for the apartment this year…a little one, anyway. Hopefully Blair won't try to eat it, like she did with that hyacinth. Kid always throws a Christmas party at his house, so we can go to that. It'll be fun. And…" She sighed. "Much as I don't want to, I should probably pay Spirit a visit for the holidays. Maybe we can have dinner at his house or something. But we'll make it quick."

Chrona tensed. _We?_

Well, he was Maka's boyfriend now. He supposed it made sense for him to go with her. He felt a small flutter of excitement at the idea that she _wanted _him there. But still…

"Are you okay?" Maka asked.

Chrona realized he was squeezing her hand too hard and loosened his grip. "S-sorry," he murmured. "I'm fine, it's just…I'm a little scared of Spirit. I don't know how to deal with him."

"Oh." She gave him a small, uncertain smile. "Well, you don't have to come if you'd rather not. After what he did last time, I couldn't blame you."

"It's not that I don't _want _to," he said quickly. "It's just…I'm worried I might do or say something wrong and then he won't like me anymore, and h-he won't approve of me being with you, and…I _want _to be with you, I want it more than anything, and if he tries to come between us, I don't know what I'll do."

To his surprise, Maka laughed.

"M-Maka?"

"Don't worry so much about what he thinks," she said. "He can't stop us from being together. I mean, what's he going to do? Lurk outside our window and make faces at us?"

"A-actually, I can imagine him doing that…"

"Then we'll close the blinds." She smiled. "But I think it'll go fine. Spirit likes you. He's not going to change his opinion on a whim."

Chrona gave her a tiny smile in return, and she kissed the corner of his mouth. He hoped she was right. Nothing would tear Chrona from her side now—he'd fight anyone or anything to be with her—but still, he didn't want to cause her any trouble or stress.

The wind had picked up. A few drops of cold rain struck Chrona's face.

"We should probably head back soon," Maka said.

He nodded, but neither one of them moved. Despite the chill in the air and the gray clouds gathering overhead—the promise of a rare desert rain—he found he was perfectly content just sitting here with her on the grass.

As he gazed at the pond, however, his mind drifted. Dark memories tugged at the edges of his consciousness, and a shiver ran through him.

"Chrona?"

Since the incident last week, he remembered certain things he'd once forgotten. Maybe that was good. Repressing the past wasn't healthy, was it? Still…some things were easier to forget. "You saw it, didn't you? That memory."

Her smile faded. "Yes."

He started to tremble.

Until now, he and Maka hadn't really talked about that at all. So much had happened. They'd both been overwhelmed, and Maka—he sensed—had not wanted to breach the topic before he did.

"Does it seem strange to you?" he whispered. "That after everything I went through, that was the one thing I couldn't deal with?"

"It doesn't seem strange," she said quietly. "Seeing something like that would have terrified any child."

"It w-wasn't just…what I saw. Wh-what happened after…"

Maka's hand tightened on his, but she didn't reply; just waited for him to continue.

Chrona stared into space. "The killing, the starvation…all those days I spent locked in that little dark room…that was all horrible, but at least I _understood _it. I knew what she expected from me, and I knew what would happen if I disobeyed. But that night…" He trailed off. His breathing had grown ragged and unsteady. "After that, I didn't understand anything anymore."

Maka was silent, but he felt her gaze on him.

"Why did she have to hold me so gently?" he whispered. "If she'd been cruel, I could have dealt with it. I was used to that." He swallowed, his throat tight. "She'd never held me before, except as a reward when I killed something. But that night…it was different. A-and the next morning…" He closed his eyes. "I woke up in my own bed. I was naked and confused, and my head hurt from that stuff she made me drink. When I went into the kitchen, she was there. She was cold and distant, like usual. As if it hadn't happened. But I knew it hadn't been a dream, because my head was still hurting, and I j-just…I couldn't deal with it. I couldn't fit it in with everything else. So I just tried to push it away."

Maka gave his hand another squeeze.

He bowed his head. "But…even if I made myself forget, it was still there in my head, somewhere. It took me a long time to really understand what I'd seen, and I wonder now—" He drew in a wobbly breath. He couldn't stop shaking. "I wonder if that's why I was so scared of sex. I mean, there were other reasons, b-but…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe deep down, I was afraid that when the moment came, I would see those snakes in my head. I would see them doing things to her. I didn't want to think about that when I was with you."

Maka's breath hissed between her teeth. Her grip on his hand grew painfully tight. For a moment he wondered if he'd made a mistake, if he shouldn't have said anything. The familiar iron bands of panic squeezed his chest. He waited, heart knocking against his ribs.

"I'm sorry," Maka said.

He looked at her in surprise. "Why?"

She stared out at the pond, her breath fogging the air. "I should have been more careful," she said. "I shouldn't have pushed you so much. If I'd known…"

"There's no way you could have known."

"I _should _have. The way you would tense up…the way you'd freeze sometimes when I kissed you, I should have known there was something…"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said.

She looked at him, green eyes shadowed with pain, and he knew she didn't believe him.

"Don't be sad, Maka." He stroked her cheek. "Please, please don't be sad. I'm alive and sane now because of you. And I—I don't want you to have to be careful with me all the time. I don't want you to always be afraid of hurting me. I'm okay now. I really am. I can deal with it."

His palm still rested against her cheek. She lay a hand over his and closed her eyes. He smoothed a few strands of hair away from her face with his other hand.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and hugged his arm. "I know the world isn't fair," she said. "It's never been. But still…" She hugged his arm a little tighter. "It seems wrong, that so many bad things happened to such a good person."

It took him a moment to find his voice. "I—I'm not—"

She touched his lips, gently silencing him. When she looked up again, she was smiling, though her eyes still held a trace of sadness. "I won't hear any argument. Not about that."

"Sorry," he murmured, his lips moving against her gloved fingertips. "I'm trying to stop that. Really."

"Don't worry. We have plenty of time to work on it."

Thunder rumbled faintly overhead. The wind whistled through the trees.

She looked up at the gathering clouds. "We're going to get soaked if we stay here."

Chrona nodded. He wondered if they should stop at the store on the way home. They didn't have much food at the apartment, just cereal and ramen. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I feel like potato soup tonight," she said. "How about you?"

"I've never made it before, but I'll try."

"We'll make it together," she said.

"You know how?"

"Not really. But we can learn as we go."

The shadow of a smile flickered across his face. "Okay."

She stood and offered a hand to him. He took it.

They walked out of the park and through the streets of Death City, still holding hands.

The gray sky opened and rain poured down, as if the clouds had burst. Rain slicked down their hair and plastered their clothes to their bodies.

Maka looked at him and grinned, strands of wet hair draped across her face. "I guess we're going to get soaked anyway."

"That's okay."

They kept walking. Rain ran in rivulets under the collar of his robe and struck his face like a thousand tiny, cold kisses.

It had been a long time since he'd walked in the rain. He imagined the cool water washing away the past, washing away the scars, the pain, making him new and clean.

He knew it didn't work that way. The scars were a part of him; he couldn't disown them anymore than he could change the color of his eyes.

Still, the rain felt good.

"Chrona, Maka!"

Chrona turned to see Marie-sensei standing in the street, holding an umbrella. She was waving to them. "Come over here! You're getting drenched!"

Maka let out a breathless laugh, and they ran over to Marie. The three walked in a tight huddle down the street, Marie doing her best to shelter all of them with her umbrella.

"What are you two doing out on an afternoon like this?" she asked.

"We didn't mean to stay out quite so late," Maka said. "We lost track of time. What about you?"

"Oh, I was walking home from the school and I…got a little turned around." She let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "Could you tell me…"

"Dr. Stein's house is that way." Maka pointed.

"Thank you." Her golden eye focused on Chrona. "How have you been feeling?"

"F-fine."

Aside from Maka and Ragnarok, no one knew the details of what had happened inside Chrona's soul; just that Medusa had tried to possess him, failed, and died. But over the past week, everyone had been treating him more gently than usual, asking if he was okay.

Now, Marie was looking at him with obvious concern. "When I heard about what had happened, I was so worried for you," she said quietly.

A slight flush rose into his cheeks. Even now, the kindness of all his friends and teachers never failed to astonish him. "Th-thank you. But I'm okay. Really."

She stopped, her gaze searching his face. "You know, if you wanted to request a break from missions and give yourself some time to recover, I'm sure the higher-ups would understand."

Chrona shook his head. "Meisters and Weapons have an important job. I don't want to take time off unless I really need to, not when there are people in the world who need saving."

She tilted her head. "You know, Chrona, you've grown a lot."

He blinked. "I have?"

Ragnarok sprung out of his back and settled atop his hair. "Are you kidding? He's the same scrawny bean-sprout he's always been! Sure, he's taller than me, but he's still just a rack of bones in a dress!"

Maka rolled her eyes. "She means he's grown emotionally, not physically. Anyway, don't be bitter just because you're shorter than Chrona."

"Who's bitter? I don't care! I can still kick his ass!" Ragnarok hooked his tiny hands into the corners of Chrona's mouth and pulled.

"Ahhh, Rah-nah-rah, stah ih!" Chrona whined, his voice muffled.

"Make me!" Cackling, he stretched the corners of Chrona's mouth upward into a distorted grin. "Smile, emo kid! Smile, or I'll put Tabasco sauce up your nose!"

* * *

><p>That night, while Chrona and Maka were cutting up carrots for the soup, the phone rang.<p>

Soul was sitting on the couch, playing videogames. Blair was curled up at his side, dozing, tail-tip draped over her nose. "Should I get it?" he called.

"Oh, just ignore it," Maka said. "It's probably Spirit. I told him to stop calling my mirror five times a day, so now he's using the phone. He has a knack for missing the point."

Another ring.

She sighed and looked at Chrona. "I swear, that man drives me nuts. I say 'thank you for being there' and he takes that as an invitation to stalk me. He really needs a new hobby."

The phone kept ringing.

Soul paused the game and grabbed it. "Hello?" he said. A pause. He held the phone up, glanced at Maka, and said, "It's for you."

"Tell him we're busy!"

"It's not Spirit."

Maka blinked. A puzzled look crossed her face. She approached, took the phone, and held it to her ear. "This is Maka," she said.

A moment went by, and her expression remained blank. Slowly, her eyes widened, and the color drained from her face. She stood silent, motionless, mouth open slightly.

Her gaze darted to Soul, then to Chrona. She retreated swiftly into her bedroom and closed the door.

Chrona stood motionless, uncertain, still holding the carrot-chopping knife. He could hear her voice from down the hall, very faintly, but he couldn't make out any of the words. "Is she okay?" he asked at last.

"I think so," Soul said. "She probably just doesn't want us to see her getting emotional. You know how she is." At Chrona's puzzled look, he added, "That was Kami on the line."

"Kami?"

"Her mom."

Oh.

It was a bit of a shock, to realize that until that moment, he hadn't actually known her first name. Maka hardly ever talked about her mother, and Chrona was reluctant to bring up a sensitive subject. Still, how could he not have known something like that? The dull burn of guilt spread through his chest.

"She'll probably be awhile," Soul said. "They've got a lot to catch up on."

Chrona nodded, not sure what to say. He set down the knife, turned off the stove, and sat next to Soul on the couch. Blair was still asleep, sides rising and falling evenly with each breath.

Soul picked a second controller up off the floor and offered it to him. "Want to play a few rounds?"

"S-sure."

The click of buttons filled the silence as they played. Soul won the first round. Chrona won the next three. Once he relaxed and focused, it wasn't difficult.

"You've got good reflexes," Soul remarked.

"Th-thanks." Chrona glanced at Soul from the corner of his eye.

He'd lived here long enough now that he was comfortable with Soul…at least when Maka was around. When they were alone, it was a different story. He never knew quite what to say.

He tried to focus, but he found himself thinking of the conversation they'd had shortly after Chrona moved in—the words Soul had spoken to him: _When the time came to make a choice, she chose to abandon the mission and go after you. You realize what that means, don't you? It means that you were more important to her than the entire world._

He remembered the look on Soul's face when he spoke those words. That sad, complicated, knowing smile.

Chrona had been thinking about that look too often lately. He'd been thinking about a lot of things he shouldn't. Now, his mind wandered, despite his efforts to keep it on the game.

Soul had been close to Maka long before Chrona ever met her. They had a strong bond, both on and off the battlefield; the ultimate Meister and Weapon pair.

It shouldn't bother him. They were just friends, after all, and Soul had always been supportive of Maka's relationship with Chrona. Amazingly supportive, all things considered.

Still, there were moments when Chrona wondered how Soul really felt about all this. Considering all the time Soul and Maka had spent together before Chrona came to Death City, it would only be natural if, at one point, they'd at least _thought_ about…

"I wasn't in love with her," Soul said without taking his gaze from the screen, "if that's what you're wondering."

Chrona gave a start and nearly dropped his controller. "I—th-that is—" His face flushed, and his breathing quickened. By now he was accustomed to Maka's uncanny knack for reading his mind, but when Soul did it, it was a bit…disconcerting. Could _everyone _just look at him and see his thoughts displayed on his forehead in red neon?

He fidgeted. "Um…"

"Sorry," Soul said. "Guess that kinda came out of nowhere, didn't it?"

They'd both stopped playing. Their characters faced each other on the screen, crouched in fighting positions, bobbing lightly up and down. "Y-you…you and her…you were never…"

"No." He fiddled with the controller. "A lot of people assumed we were. I mean, we're partners, and we're living under the same roof. People are gonna gossip. But even if we _had_ been attracted to each other, I don't think it would've gone very far. Maka and I…we work as friends, even if we argue. But on that other level, we don't really click." His gaze remained fixed on the screen. "In some ways, we're too alike."

Chrona wondered what Soul meant and why he was telling him this now.

"Though, to be honest..." Soul looked at him from the corner of his eye. "I _was_ a little jealous of you at first."

Chrona tensed. The thought of Soul being jealous of him for any reason was strange. Soul always seemed so comfortable in his own skin, so at ease with himself and the world. The total opposite of Chrona. "Wh-why?" His voice emerged a little squeaky.

He shrugged and looked away. "For the longest time, it was just me and her. That was all we needed. And suddenly you were there, and…" He shrugged again. "It was different."

Chrona had started to shake. The controller slipped from his hands, and he clutched his arm, struggling to control his breathing.

He glanced down the hall, at the closed door of Maka's bedroom. He couldn't hear her voice anymore, but she was probably still talking.

This was the first time in a long while he and Soul had been alone. He wondered if Soul had been waiting for a chance to say this to him. "D-do you…" He swallowed, his throat tight. His fingertips pressed into his arm, hard enough to send tiny twinges of pain shooting through his nerves. He was afraid of the answer, but he forced the words out: "D-do you…n-n-not want me here?"

Soul blinked. "No. I mean, that isn't—that's not why I'm saying this," he said quickly. "I just…I dunno. We've been living in the same apartment for a month but we've never really _talked, _and if I were in your shoes I'd be wondering about this stuff, so I guess I thought I should come clean." He paused. "I was, but I'm not anymore. Jealous of you, that is."

Chrona wanted to believe that. But if it was true, why had Soul brought it up in the first place?

His gaze darted nervously back and forth. This wasn't like confronting Spirit. Soul was Maka's best friend. She actually cared what he thought, and if he didn't want Chrona living here…

Well, Maka wouldn't throw him out, but it would make things very tense.

He lowered his head and hunched his shoulders. He didn't want things to be tense between Maka and Soul because of him. He didn't want to cause any problems in her life. Maybe he should just go back to living by himself in his own apartment. This arrangement was supposed to be temporary anyway, wasn't it? He'd only moved in here because of the kishin egg attack. That had been arranged by Medusa, and she was gone, so it wouldn't happen again.

But he'd gotten used to this. He liked being close to Maka all the time, he liked having breakfast with other people around, he liked not being alone. He'd miss this, if he left. But if he wasn't wanted...

He felt a little sick to his stomach. "Tell me the truth," he whispered. "Please." _I will not cry. I will not cry._

Soul sighed. "I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?"

Chrona said nothing.

"Look, what I really wanted to say is—at first I didn't know how to feel about you being here, but I'm fine with it now."

Chrona drew in a quick breath. Slowly, he raised his gaze to Soul's. "Y-you don't have to say that for my sake. I m-mean...I can handle it, if y-you're not..."

"It's the truth."

Chrona's teeth caught at his lower lip. "I'm not…intruding, or anything?"

"No, you're not. Not at all." Soul rubbed the back of his neck. "If anything, I feel like I'm intruding. I mean, you and Maka probably don't have as much privacy as you'd like with me here."

"It isn't like that. This is your home."

"It's your home too." Soul glanced down at Blair, who was still curled up beside him, and lay a hand atop her head. Her ears twitched, but she didn't wake. "Blair and I, we're both glad to have you around. And not just because you make Maka happy. Or because you're a better cook than any of us." He gave a small, awkward smile, looked away, and scratched his cheek with one finger.

Chrona looked at him, uncertain.

Soul rubbed behind Blair's ears with his thumb, his gaze still averted. "There was a time, before I met Maka, when I lived alone. And it felt perfectly natural. I couldn't imagine living any other way. Then we ended up moving in together to save on rent. It was weird at first, having her around all the time, sharing my life with another person…but it made me realize how bored and lonely I'd been in that empty apartment. I got used to it. Soon, I couldn't imagine living any other way."

Chrona was silent, holding his breath.

"Then we met Blair, and she started hanging around. At first it was a pain. It seemed like the apartment was too small for three people, even if one of them was a cat. But now…" He gave a small chuckle. "Can't imagine the place without her. It's a lot livelier with her here, anyway. And it's the same with you. I mean, now that you're here, it feels like you belong here, and if you left, there'd be something missing."

For a moment, Chrona couldn't speak.

Until then, he hadn't realized just how worried he'd been. Deep down, he'd never been sure if Soul was truly okay with him being here, or if he was just putting up with him for Maka's sake, secretly wishing he would leave.

Maybe it really _was_ okay.

It took him awhile to find his voice, but at last, he whispered, "Thank you."

"Just the truth."

Chrona looked up through messy bangs, still clutching his arm.

A memory flashed through his mind; Soul unconscious on the floor of a church, blood soaking through his shirt, his chest sliced open. Chrona flinched, fingers tightening on his arm. _I did that. I hurt him._

Blood everywhere. Maka's frightened cries, the way she clung to him, Soul's voice, weak and broken. _Run. Run away…_

He started to tremble.

"Chrona?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?"

"H-hurting you."

"Huh?"

He bowed his head. "Th-the church. In Italy."

"Oh, that? That's in the past. Don't worry about it."

Chrona blinked back tears. "I c-came so close to killing you. Both of you. And…I know. Th-that the reason you have the black blood now is because of me. And that scar…"

"The black blood's an _advantage_ in battle, as long as I don't let it get out of hand. And I don't mind the scar." He tapped a fist against his chest. "It makes me look tough."

How easily everyone forgave him, Chrona thought. How quick they were to dismiss all the hurt he'd caused. He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Chrona? Hey." Soul nudged his shoulder, and Chrona looked up. Soul smiled, showing sharp teeth. "We're good, okay?" He held out a fist.

Chrona stared at it, confused—then he caught on. Shyly, he bumped his fist against Soul's and gave him a timid, wobbly smile in return.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was still awkward, but somehow it was a more comfortable awkwardness than before.

Soul picked up the controller. "'Nother round?"

He nodded.

They hadn't been playing long when they heard footsteps coming down the hall. Chrona paused the game and looked up. It was Maka, still holding the phone, her expression a little dazed.

"You okay?" Soul asked.

"Yes," Maka said. Her voice sounded oddly distant. She looked at the cordless phone in her hand, set it back in its cradle, closed her eyes, and rubbed at the corners.

"Maka?" Chrona said.

"All those months," she whispered. "All that time, I never heard from her. I never got anything except postcards. And now…"

Chrona waited, but Maka didn't seem inclined to say anything else. He debated asking, but in the end, he remained silent. This was something private, something between Maka and her mother. If she wanted to tell him, she would.

At last, Maka took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and smiled. It looked a little strained. "Let's make dinner," she said.

* * *

><p>The soup turned out well—especially considering it was the first time either of them had made something like this—but Chrona was too concerned to really enjoy it.<p>

He'd expected Maka to be happy about hearing from her mother, but she seemed preoccupied throughout dinner, staring into space and eating mechanically. When Soul asked her to pass the salt, she didn't seem to hear him, and he had to repeat himself.

Maybe she was just overwhelmed, Chrona thought. Maybe she was still processing her emotions.

After they'd eaten, Chrona and Maka retreated to his room. She closed the door, leaned against him, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. Chrona slipped his arms around her waist. For a few minutes, they stood, not moving or speaking. He just held her.

"I told her about you," Maka said quietly.

His heartbeat quickened. "What did you say?"

"That I'd met someone special. Someone I was very in love with."

"And…what did _she_ say?"

"She said that she can't wait to meet you."

He exhaled a small breath of relief. "Do you think she'll like me?"

"Of course she will."

_Then what's wrong? _Rain ticked softly against the bedroom window. Chrona rested a hand on the small of her back. He could feel the tension in her muscles. "Maka? Are you sure you're okay?"

For a moment, she was silent. She didn't look up. At last she spoke, very softly. "A week ago…right before that whole thing with Medusa…Mama sent me a postcard with a phone number written on it. The number for the hotel she was staying at. I called as soon as I got it, but she'd already checked out. Tonight, I asked her why she hadn't waited for me to call. She said she'd meant to, but…" Maka let out a tiny, choked, humorless laugh. "She lost her courage. So she ran away again." Her breath hitched. "I always thought she was so _brave_. The bravest person I'd ever known. But she's been running all this time. Ever since she left Death City."

Chrona held her a little tighter.

Maka's face remained hidden against his chest. "I told her that I understood why she'd divorced Spirit. That I'd have done the same thing, in her shoes. It's amazing how long she put up with him, considering what he did. But…I never understood why she had to leave _me. _Why she couldn't have stayed in Death City, or at least somewhere close enough that I could visit. I asked her. I asked her why."

Another silence followed.

"Wh-what did she say?" Chrona asked at last.

"She said she was afraid," she whispered at last. "She was afraid that if she stayed here, she'd forgive him again." Her fingers tightened on his robe. "She said she needed to get away, to get her head straightened out, and…th-that she knew I would be okay, because I was strong, and because he'd be there…but…" Her hands clenched, fisting in his robe. "I don't want to be strong anymore. I just want _her_. I want my Mama. She says she'll come home, but when? How much longer am I supposed to wait?"

Chrona didn't know what to say.

Maka's face remained hidden against his chest. She began to cry—very quietly, almost silently, in little hitching gasps and gulps.

He wasn't used to hearing her cry. Maka always hid her pain. He wondered how long she'd been hiding this. His arms tightened around her. He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head.

"It's s-silly, I know…crying over this now…"

"It's not silly." He rubbed a hand gently up and down her back. "You always tell me it's okay to cry. Remember?"

"I know." Her face was still pressed against his robe, her voice muffled. "I just hate this feeling. I want to believe that she'll come back, but I…" Her voice broke. "I don't know anymore."

He wished he could go and bring her mother back right now. He wished he could at least promise Maka that she _would _come back. He knew that would be an empty promise, though. He couldn't control what someone else did. But there was one thing he could do, one thing he could promise.

He framed her face between his hands and tilted it upward. "I won't ever leave you." His voice shook, husky with emotion. "I'll always be here. I'll never run away again. I promise."

Maka looked up at him, eyes shiny with tears.

He wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "I'm yours."

She leaned upward until her lips brushed his ear. "Make me believe it," she whispered.

His breath caught.

"Show me…" Her voice was a soft plea. Her fingers slid into his hair and clutched. Green eyes filled his vision. An instant later, her lips were pressed against his in a hard, fierce kiss. Chrona's eyes slipped shut.

She filled his senses. Even after all this time, the scent of her hair and skin still made him weak with longing. He slid his hands down her back to rest on her hips. His lips parted, and his tongue pushed forward to meet hers.

Rain lashed the window as they fell to the bed, fingers tangled in each other's hair, mouths pressed together. She trailed kisses over his jaw and throat. He kissed her cheeks and tasted the salt of tears. An ache spread through his chest. He'd do anything to erase those tears, to make her believe. He'd kiss her a hundred times, a thousand, ten thousand.

"Chrona…" His name escaped her lips as a sigh.

She said his name like it was something beautiful. She whispered it like a prayer. He'd never get used to that.

"I'll never leave you," Chrona murmured into her hair. "Never ever. I'll stay with you, Maka, I promise. I'm yours." He dropped another kiss on her forehead. "I'm yours." He kissed her lips, the bridge of her nose, her chin. "I'm yours." He whispered the words over and over, punctuating each repetition with a kiss.

She gripped his robe in both hands, flushed and panting. He started to slip a hand under her blouse and hesitated, looking into her eyes. She gave a tiny nod. His palm slid over her smooth stomach, up to her chest, to rest against the spot between her breasts.

Unlike her, Chrona didn't have Soul Perception. But they were linked, and he could feel her soul floating inside her. He'd recognize it anywhere. That warmth. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers, and that warmth spread through his body and mind. A sweet shiver ran through him, and a sigh escaped his lips.

Slowly, he raised his head. Half-lidded green eyes gazed up at him, reflecting the dim lamplight. Her cheeks were still streaked with tears. "I don't want to lose you," she said.

"You won't. We're never really apart." Chrona tapped a finger against his chest; the place where his own soul resided. "You're right here."

Holding his gaze, she reached up to touch his cheek. Her fingertips rested against his skin, cool and soft. "Look at me," she said.

He did. Her eyes moved in tiny flickers, searching his, and he kept them wide open. There was nothing he wanted to hide from her.

"Whatever you need," he said. "Whatever I can give. It's yours."

"You," she whispered. Her hands fisted in his robe again. "I need you."

This time, there was no hesitation, no fear.

* * *

><p>Later, he cuddled against Maka's side, his cheek against her hair as their sweat cooled. Her skin was smooth and warm against his.<p>

Outside the window, wind howled, and rain pattered against the glass. Chrona closed his eyes. He floated, his mind wrapped in fuzzy bliss. A pleasant exhaustion tingled in his numb limbs, and weakness suffused his body, but at the same time, he felt like he could fly.

His mind was clear and still. Her touch reached where words couldn't, cooling the fevered burn of his ever-present doubts and fears. The fleeting high brought on from physical pain was just a pale shadow of this feeling, he thought; this was so much cleaner, more intense, more penetrating—and with this, there was no bitter aftertaste of shame, just warmth and peace.

He wondered if it was like that for her, or if it was different; if he gave her something else entirely, something he couldn't understand.

She ran her fingers through his hair. Her other hand rested on his chest, close to his beating heart.

She looked at him drowsily in the soft lamplight and smiled. "I believe you," she murmured.

"Mm?"

"I believe you'll stay."

"Of course. I'll stay with you always." He ran his palm along the curve of her side, the dip of her waist. His hand lingered over the scar there, the one he'd given her during their second battle. His thumb ran gently over it, back and forth.

She tucked her chin into the nook between his shoulder and neck. Her fingertips wandered down his spine, tracing the little bumps of his vertebrae. "I'm glad I met you, Chrona."

"I'm glad I met you." Her heart beat against his, gentle and steady, a rhythm he could happily follow for the rest of his life. "Every day. Every moment." He closed his eyes. "I'm so glad."

* * *

><p><em>Chrona sits on the beach, his arms folded atop his knees. Waves wash over the shore, surging and ebbing; the ocean's heartbeat. His shadow stretches out before him. "Are you happy?" it asks.<em>

_Chrona hesitates. He wants to say _yes. _But it's a little more complicated than that._

_Right now, he is happy, but he knows there are thorny paths ahead. He knows there will still be days when he can't deal with anything, when he'll huddle in the corner and tremble as if the walls are falling down around him. There will be nights when he can't sleep because the memories loom too close. There will be moments when he hates himself. Wounds of the soul don't heal so easily._

_But as the months and years go by, those dark moments will become fewer. Little by little, the knots inside him will begin to unwind. He hopes—no, he _knows—_that the joy will outweigh the pain._

"_Let me ask that another way," the shadow says. "Is it worth it?"_

"_Yes," he replies at once._

"_You want to live, don't you? You never did, before you came here—not really. You were just afraid of dying. You wanted to escape the fear. That was as far as it ever went. But now you want more. You want to feel the sun on your face. You want the taste of ice cream and the coolness of sheets against your skin. You want the sound of her voice."_

"_Yes."_

"_She said she wants a lifetime with you," the shadow says. "Can you give that to her?"_

"_Yes," Chrona replies._

_There is no question about it. He will wake up each morning and have breakfast with Maka. He will fight by her side. They will make love, they will comfort each other after bad dreams, they will drift off to sleep in each other's arms._

"_Are you still afraid?" the shadow asks._

"_Of course I am. But I won't let that stand in my way."_

_The shadow gives a small nod. "Then you're ready."_

"_For what?"_

"_Tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after." A pause. "You probably don't need me anymore."_

"_Don't be silly. I'll always need you. You're part of me, after all."_

_A tiny smile curves the shadow's mouth. "You're really a nice person," it says. "You know that?"_

* * *

><p>Chrona stared at the ceiling.<p>

Maka had already drifted off to sleep. Her breathing mingled with the sigh of wind outside their little apartment. The rain had died down to a gentle patter.

Ragnarok emerged from his chest and peered at him. "Hey," he whispered. "I've been thinking. You know how I'm human when we're in that beach place?"

"Yeah?"

"You think I could ever like...take someone on a date there?"

He blinked. "In my soul?"

A pause. "Yeah, I guess that would be weird, wouldn't it? It's just, with you and Maka boinking like rabbits, it's got me thinking about stuff and...I don't need to look human _all _the time, you know? But it'd be nice if I could have legs just once in awhile. And a dick."

"M-maybe we could figure something out. I could talk to Dr. Stein." He didn't know if it was possible. But it didn't seem fair for Ragnarok not to have a body of his own. "Ragnarok?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Huh? For what?"

"I used to think that you didn't understand feelings. But I think I was wrong. I think I understand you better now. We just, um...communicate differently. I think."

For a moment, Ragnarok just stared at him. "You know, for a dude, you're such a chick." He vanished into Chrona's chest.

A tiny smile flickered across his face. He closed his eyes and listened to Maka's breathing.

His life stretched out before him like an open road. A life in Death City. A life with her.

There had been a time when he could only think about surviving the moment in front of him, because the idea of spending years or decades in his own skin was too frightening. He didn't feel that way anymore.

There was still a little flicker of anxiety when he thought about the hardships ahead—and there would be hardships, no doubt. But it helped, knowing that Maka would be with him. And not just Maka, but Ragnarok and Soul and Dr. Stein and Marie and all his friends. At times, he could feel their love like a tangible presence, wrapped around him and supporting him. It was warm.

A part of him still ached at the thought that Medusa had never felt that warmth.

Or had she?

He found himself thinking back to her last moments. Her final word.

He still hadn't told Maka about that. He wondered why. Maka had walked through his mind and seen the deepest recesses of his soul, yet somehow, he hesitated to reveal this simple thing.

If she asked him, of course, he would tell her. He could deny her nothing. But whatever she said about it, however she reacted, it would influence and change his own perceptions. Maybe it was better to let it be...even if it confused him.

Perhaps it had been Medusa's last act of possessiveness—to give him a parting order, one he desperately wanted to follow, so he would in some sense always be in her thrall.

Or perhaps she'd just wanted to ensure that some part of _her_ would go on existing; that even if she disappeared, her child would remain, a legacy of magic and madness.

Or perhaps, in her last moments, she'd found the capacity to feel something for Chrona. Perhaps as his soul swallowed hers—as she'd faded into him, losing the boundaries of her own identity—she'd experienced the warmth that had eluded her all her life.

Somehow, that possibility hurt the most.

_Medusa…Mother...if there's anything left of you, please tell me._

But of course, there was only silence within. Medusa was dead—and this time, she wouldn't return. All he had left was the memory of her dying moment.

One last command. A single word, a single syllable.

"_Live."_

-The End


End file.
